Alone
by Rose Critical
Summary: A virus does not care if you exercise. A virus does not care if you're pregnant. A virus does not care if you're 6, or 60. A virus shows no mercy. A virus only cares if you washed your hands after using that keyboard….
1. Chapter 1

**A re-write.**

 **Now dedicated to my sister, who passed away the night of July 29, 2017.**

 **She had a lot of love… but no one to share it with.**

Self-preservation is something we all know, no matter who or what we are. Whether it is a virus… or a person. You know what it is.

Some use it relentlessly, killing off those that aren't beneficial to them by the hundreds. Or, thousands. Millions if you're capable.

Others are conservative: willing to help those that are willing to be helped.

All of us have felt it; we're all programed with it, but don't know how to use it until we have need for it. It's something engraved in all of us with so much detail that it's quite hard to believe it's instinct. It can manifest itself out of the most ludicrous of situations, and die out in times that it is needed. For a small percentage of the people, it is alive all the time. When they wake up, and when they sleep. They call themselves rational. They prepare—albeit too much. But everyone calls them paranoid.

Those are the people that, ironically, suffer and shrivel in times of need. They overthink the situation. They overlook the simple cues.

Most other people are simple: only acting on impulse when their lives are threatened. Unlocking their need to survive when their lives stop living, and everything stops being handed to them on a silver platter.

Yet those people don't exactly prosper in emergencies. They survive. And… will eventually die at the hand of an ailment or a creature bred for death.

Then there's, in society's eyes, the runts—the silent ones, the people that, by the standards of others should know nothing about surviving. Yet they don't, not at all, because they see the truth of things. They have seen, felt, and lived true pain—true fear.

And that pays off in this unusual circumstance.

Very few people question what lives beyond the forest. Mainly because few people actually question at all, considering what the virus did. Many people aren't people, and many pokémon… aren't pokémon. And that's what mainly lives beyond the forest… if you're wondering: pokémon. But not the pokémon you know.

The ground squelched in spite of the lack of rainfall for the past few days, as heavy paws heeled into the grassless soil. The air was thick with humidity, almost to the point where you could filter-feed water from the air. Split logs of similar sizes and colors wound up with twine were tucked between this woman's arm and her ribs. It was an average temperature, for that area: 39 degrees. Not too cold, by the woman's rationale. Of course, she did have fur. She was a lucario, after all. On her other arm, or rather, her shoulder, there was a sling that led to a shotgun. There wasn't an uninfected biologic she hasn't encountered so far with the local pokémon. She even found some that weren't native to this area. And… by 'found'… she meant 'killed.' The violence has grown on her for the past few years. It's gotten to the point where it became a normal chore to wash the blood from her fur and her guns. She never liked it… and it actually scared her how normal this became. The lucario feared for her sanity.

She stepped onto paved road and tossed the bundle of logs into the back of a pickup parked by the edge. The lucario walked around and opened the driver door, pulling out a bottle of bleach. She stepped into the truck and poured some on the ground, capping the bottle and tossing it in the backseat. She put her shotgun in the passenger and started it up. The woman swung the door shut and drove off to a nearby town.

She stopped in front of a warehouse, which was surrounded with old cars and crates, filled with non-edible supplies that wouldn't fit inside the warehouse. The car rumbled to a stop and she got out and unloaded the wood. She took out a long key and unlocked the main door, laying the wood on the inside. She went back to get her shotgun and tossed it onto a couch inside the warehouse, walking in and shutting the door.

Inside… was much. She had a couch, a water heater, a wood stove, a bed, a desk, a large drawing table, a coffee table, and many, many boxes full of food and water. She figured that the food would last her another 60 years, 80 if she rationed. Though she knew she might not live to finish the boxes, it was nice to have enough to eat and drink. But then again, it would be scary to see these shelves empty one day.

She loaded the stove with the wood and lit it, closing the iron door and setting a pot on the grill. She turned on a fume hood that was bolted above the stove and poured water into the pot.

Once it boiled, she put a brick of noodles in it and let it sit until it was soft.

She poured the noodles and water into a bowl, ripped open a packet and mixed in seasoning.

She sat, or rather plopped onto the couch and sipped the ramen, marveling at the warmth of the broth. The warmth made her feel… warm inside. Obviously. But along with the physical warmth, came the emotional warmth. The kind of warm, fuzzy feeling you get in a hug. She loved that warmth. She remembered when she still got that warmth…

 _"Come, come, Ezra! It's on T.V!" Ezra's master shouted from the kitchen. "Quickly!"_

 _"Yeah!" Ezra shouted, stumbling down the stairs. She turned a corner and ran into the living room. Her master caught her and lifted her up, holding her so that she could see the T.V. better. A new episode for a cartoon was airing, and they were both very excited about it. It was the season finale, and the two watched intently. She sat Ezra down on the couch, plopping down with her. She cuddled her up in her arms as they watched, both of them feeling drowsy after fifteen minutes, even though it was only lunchtime. They almost fell asleep, if it weren't for the loud end-credits music playing. The show was over._

 _"Wow… I was tired…" her master muttered while sitting up._

 _"It's 'cause you were holding me!" she said as she jumped off of the couch. "Can I play with Lucy now? Please?" She folded her ears down and smiled._

 _"Yes, yes you can." She went to a bookcase and picked off a pokéball belt, letting an eevee out. The pokémon's ears perked and ran over to Ezra, jumping and landing on her tan, spikeless chest. She hugged it and started to roll around, laughing as she did. She loved to play with that eevee…_

But that was years ago, many, many years ago. Now she was 29, going on 30. The lucario had better things to be concerned with than an eevee that was most likely dead by now.

The truth hurt sometimes.

She set her now empty bowl on the coffee table and went to her drawing table. She pulled out a tube and slid out a roll of paper, unrolling it on the table. There showed a hand-drawn map of the town and the woods she got the firewood from. The lucario took tacks and nailed the map to the table. Ezra got out a pencil and began to sketch part of the road she drove on today. The woods where she got the firewood would soon be overrun by snow, so she had to stock up this week. Ezra set down her pencil and grabbed a bucket of water, dousing out the wood stove.

Ezra walked out of the warehouse, got in the car, and drove to the woods.

When she got there, she grabbed her shotgun and slipped it onto her shoulder, walking away from the truck and into the woods. She got to the chopping stump, and set down her shotgun. Ezra reached for her axe….

And it wasn't there.

She's been through this before. A disfigured servine decided to screw with her a few months ago. That ended with a rotting carcass just yards from where she stood. And a new leather bag.

She grabbed thin air, confused. She darted for her shotgun and cocked it, swinging around in circles trying to look for who took the axe. Her breathing was heavy but slow, heartbeat slow but steady, eyes silent but watching….

She heard crunching of leaves and spun to the left. The combination of the running—nearly boring—streak of mutilated monsters and her twitchy finger was enough for a shot to ring out.

All Ezra could see was a pale figure fall down….

Ezra lowered the tip of the shotgun, opening her other eye so that she could see. Her heart almost stopped when she saw what she shot.

A lot can go through a person's mind when they're faced with a life-or-death situation. The most simplest that they can put it—life and death. But not with this particular pokémon, no. She thought of where to put this pokémon once it was dead. Well, there were two problems:

It wasn't a pokémon.

And it wasn't dead.

In fact, it was a human.

As far as she knew, the virus killed nearly all of the human population, and transformed most of the pokémon into mindless creatures that would play with your innards as if it was beach sand.

Her face showed a shocked expression as she dropped the shotgun on the ground and ran toward the man.

He was moderately tall, about the size of the average doorway. The man sported a heavy leather trench coat and shaggy brown locks, and, oddly, no facial hair.

She looked over him, trying to find where she hit him.

"My God!" he seethed through his teeth. She looked at him with contempt and kept searching. She found where she hit him: his left arm. Her hand moved over his arm and he started screaming in pain. She drew back her hand slowly with tense, and shot started coming out. Lead balls coated in blood popped out of his arm and fell to the ground. He screamed to the high heavens, not really knowing why it hurt so much. It was like getting shot again—but backwards. When it was done, he looked to the ground to see seven pellets of shot. "Th… that was in me?" he said. She nodded, grabbed her shotgun, and ran to the truck. "Hey! Where are you going?" he yelled at her, holding his arm. He winced and stood up, but quickly fell to the ground. Ezra ran back with a roll of cloth, and held the man still. "G-give me that I can—" She looked into his eyes with a burning rage. He abruptly stuttered and swallowed a ball of saliva. She looked back to his arm and wrapped the cloth around it, tying it off when there was no more. Ezra patted the wound, got up, and left. She stopped for a moment and waved her hand.

The man slowly got up, gripping his arm. He made it to his feet and began to walk slowly.

"Wha-where are you going?" She stopped, sighed, and put her fists in the air, as if turning a wheel. He furrowed his brow and scoffed. "You can drive?" She nodded. "How?" She shook her head and walked to the road, while he followed behind.

When they got to the truck, she started it and drove off.

"Where are you taking me? Why?" The lucario looked at him and slammed onto the dashboard with her fist. He flinched, and flinched again when the glove box fell open two seconds later. She whipped her head to the box, and he took out a paper from it. There was a crude drawing of a house: a box and a triangle that was badly doodled. "A house? Home?" She twisted her arm as if to say "so-so," and put her hand back on the wheel.

They got to the warehouse and went inside, Ezra pointing to the couch. He sat down and leaned back.

"Wh-why are you doing this? And why can't you speak? Not with aura, at least? Isn't that what lucario are supposed to do?" She scowled at empty air and looked around the room for a pencil and paper, clicking her tongue. She got a piece of printer paper out of the drawing table and a pen. She put it on the coffee table and kneeled in front of it. Then she began to write.

 _1._ _You first human I see for many years._

 _2._ _Birth defect. Can not sense aura or use aura. But brain is biger. I smart than most lucario. I guess the defected gene that made me not sense aura made me immune to virus._

"Hold on…" He licked his lips and sat up. "You have _thumbs_?"

 _Birth. Defect._

"Oh… right. But why did you take me in?" She rolled her eyes and gestured to number 1. "Dude, I know. But… why?" She flipped the paper over and wrote:

 _I hurt you. You need help. Beta will hurt you if you are hurt._

"What the heck is a beta?" he asked. She scoffed, or at least made the motion to, and wrote faster.

 _Infecert pokémon._

"Infected pokémon? I haven't seen one in a while. How did the virus pop up anyway?" She got up and screamed, or at least tried to. She plopped down and wrote even faster.

 _Watch tape._

Ezra got up and pulled out an old VCR and plugged it in. She got a box television and placed it by the VCR and connected the two, plugging the television in to the outlet. She got an old tape and pushed it into the VCR. The set whirred to life, and the tape played. The time stamp showed it was recorded September 2, 1999. A logo for a channel flicked onto the screen for a few seconds, and then a documentary started to play.

 _"—oday," a female announcer said. "Scientists have discovered a new strain of pokérus, one that is many, many times more efficient at making pokémon stronger. Dr. Bright will explain." She waved off towards a man in a lab coat._

 _"Hello, my name is Dr. Bright, and this vial you see here," he held up a glass beaker. "Is the birth of a new generation of pokémon, a generation that isn't plagued with the burden of slow-growing." He put the vial on a rack and pulled out a pokéball. He let out a rattata and got out a syringe. "This rattata will be our 41st test subject today, and it will also be out 41st successful integration!" he said confidently. He shaved off a bit of hair from the rattata and wiped the area with a light-brown liquid. He pushed the needle in and injected the rattata with the experimental pokérus._

 _He emptied it and set it on the table, putting a bandage on the injection site._

 _"Number 41 everybody!" The lab cheered on, and resumed their work._

 _"The serum is created via—"_

Ezra turned the television off and looked at the man.

"Some experiment? What does that have to do with anything?" She face palmed and pulled out the tape. She got another that had a different colored casing and put it in, pressing play. The time stamp said it was recorded October 17th, 1999. The screen buzzed for a second and a news report began to play.

 _"—ing news. A brand of pokémon supplements created by the International Pokémon Research Committee, IPRC, has gone horribly wrong. Thousands upon thousands of pokémon have been exposed to this growth supplement, causing body parts to grow at an unpredictable rate. This results in death from malnutrition, as the growth needs nutrients to proceed. Some pokémon, however survive this and become unusually aggressive and hostile. An international curfew has been placed; all legal children must be in their homes half an hour before sundown. Failure to obey the curfew will result in an occupational hazard, and, if caught, will result in house arrest. It is unknown if this supplement can go cross-species into humans, and as of now all persons in contact with infected pokémon have been placed in quarantine. Dr. Bright, the creator of this supplement, is on trial for negligent pokéslaughter._

 _"In other news, a woman has committed statutory ra—"_

Ezra flicked off the television and looked at the man. He sat there with a gawk, and a confused expression.

"Oh… kay… that was informative. How did you record this on time?" She picked up a new piece of paper.

 _Psychic friend. Tell when it happen. I record show and news report, ask psychic why, did not tell me. I know why now._

She cringed.

 _You wonder I did not talk?_

"Um… no, actually. I'm wondering why you're not making any voices, or growls, or anything. It's… kind of unsettling." She flattened her ears and lifted her chin. Ezra lifted some fur on her neck, showing a scar. "Your vocal chords are gone?" She shook her head.

 _Nerve cut. No connect. No talk, no bark. No voice noises. Surgery accident._

She looked up at him and lifted one ear.

"Oh, lord. I'm sorry about that. I-I wish I could've helped you. I can—" She slammed on the table making him flinch. She scribbled down words fast.

 _No. I hurt you. I have help you. Least, I help you first._

She put the pen down and got up, getting another roll of cloth.

"Why do you have so many of those?" he asked. She put the roll down and scribbled an answer down.

 _I no have wear clothes._

"Well save some for me. This is the only set I have." She nodded and unwrapped his arm. The bleeding had stopped, and now she had to disinfect it. She grabbed a vial of colloidal silver and took out a dropper, dripping silver onto his wound. He took in a breath, but she put a hand onto his chest. She capped the silver and scribbled on a new sheet of paper.

 _Silver kill bacteria, germs. Shocks bacteria. By electricity._

She put down the pen and wrapped his arm with a new cloth. She heard a loud beeping coming from outside, and she went out and into the truck. The sun was about to set, and it was time to close up the warehouse.

Inside was a watch she never wore, but she still needed it. She silenced the watch and took out a bottle of bleach. She shut the door and sprayed some on the handles and outside. She walked back into the warehouse, squirting the liquid onto the ground wherever she walked.

When she got inside, she shut the door and capped the bleach, setting it by the stove. She jogged over to the other side of the room and pulled a lever. A large steel door slammed shut from overhead, making the man flinch. She opened up a panned by the door and flicked a switch. A screen on the panel showed various locations of the warehouse, such as the exits and the roof. She saw that everything was normal and twisted a key.

A generator at the other side of the warehouse shut off, and the room's lights went off for a few seconds, only a red blinking light on the panel turned on. There were a few beeps and the lights went back on, running on battery power. She swung the panel shut and pulled out a plastic bag of 'just-add-water' food. She tossed it over to the man, who caught it with his good arm. He looked the bag over.

"This all you got?" he asked. She shook her head and pointed to the huge rack of boxes. "No, I meant, like… variety. All you have is beef stew?" She widened her eyes and opened her mouth, as if to say 'oh.' She walked over to the rack and pulled out a few bags. She laid them on the couch for him to see. There was ramen, spaghetti, potato and cheese soup, tortellini, mac and cheese with bacon, and tomato soup. He groaned while he thought, and grabbed the mac and cheese with bacon. She swiped up the rest of the bags and put them back into a box, then put a pot of water on the wood stove. She lit the stove and sat down, waiting for the water to boil. She grabbed a bag from the rack and grabbed his, putting them by the stove.

"As I was saying earlier, buddy," he began. "I can help you." He grabbed a box with his free arm put of his satchel that was tucked under his jacket and laid it on the table. He opened it and pulled out a few things: a thick silver disk with wires hanging out of it, an oval piece of plastic, and a bag of cream-colored powder. "I think I can get your voice back. M-my assistant was a gardevoir, er—I should start at the beginning. I majored in linguistics and technology. I was going to be an E.T. for the French coast guard, but when the virus…" he waved his hand around. "…You get the point. But I had some parts leftover from a project I was working on a few years back. That thing there…" He pointed to the silver disk. "Is a P.E.T.D. And that thing there…" He pointed to the plastic sheet. "…Is an electrode mount. I think I can wire those up to get your voice back." He looked at Ezra, who had one ear up and one ear sideways, her eyebrows cocked. Her lips were in a half-cringe.

"Jesus… sorry… it's been awhile since I've talked at _all_. A P.E.T.D. basically transforms psychic energy into electrical energy. And the electrode mount can transfer electricity to the body without pain." He used his uninjured hand to point to the powder. "That is powdered silver with a special adhesive. It can also transfer electricity to tissue without pain. My partner, who was a gardevoir, invented this. Can I…" he pointed to the paper. She waved him off and nodded. He grabbed the paper and drew a crude diagram.

"I may not be a doctor… but I think I can wire these things up to get your voice back. It was originally for my wife before…" he stopped there. "…You know. Do you have a soldering set?" She shook her head. "Darning needle?" She shook her head again. "Large nail?" She held up her paw and pointed up. A small claw poked out of her finger. "No, not that. Like a metal nail." She nodded and walked over to the rack of boxes. She dug around in one and pulled out a nail. "Do you have soldering wire?" She shook her head yet again. He stood up and looked in her box. "Yes you do!" he said as he pulled out a plastic spool with some wire wrapped around it. "You don't know what soldering is, do you?" If she had visible skin she would be blushing very, very hard right now. But by her flattened ears and her posture and lack of eye contact, he knew all he needed to know. "Uh-huh. Your water is boiling." She perked up and ran over to the water, picking up the bags and slicing the tops open with her claw. She poured the water into each of the bags and zipped them shut, setting a wind-up timer to a few minutes. She walked over to the couch and sat down, huffing and putting her hands on her lap.

"Dude…" he said. "Are you okay?" She nodded and picked up the paper.

 _Yes. First time taking care of someone I shot._

He laughed and lay back, sighing.

"You're funny, man. If the human race ever gets back on its feet, you need to be a comedian." He laughed again, dying out into a chuckle. He turned to her and saw that she looked sad. "Hey, man, what's _really_ wrong?" His smile melted into a grin, and then a concerned expression. She looked at him with her ears down and hesitantly picked up the paper.

 _Why are you so happy?_

He thought for a second, and said, "You know, you have to look at the good side of things sometimes. And I know that the good in a post-epidemic situation isn't that plentiful, but still look to it. Being a wet blanket doesn't really help anything, you know?" He rubbed her shoulder. Her ears perked up, and she nuzzled his hand with her head. He chuckled. She opened her eyes and picked up a new piece of paper.

 _Name? Age? Gender?_

"Oh. My name's Dillon. I-I'm 30. Would—why do you need to know that? It's obvious I'm a dude." He put his arms up, or rather, put his good arm up. "It's not that hard to infer from me. Though… it is kind of hard to tell if you're a guy or girl…" he said as he eyed her. "Ah… I don't really care. I'm just hungry." He flopped his arm to his side. And, as if on cue, the timer rang. She jumped up and ran to the food and brought it to the table. She opened the packs and handed the mac and cheese with bacon to him. She grabbed two spoons, but put one down. She turned around and held up a spoon and a fork. He pointed to the fork and she walked over. Ezra put the fork in his food and the spoon in hers. She gasped and ran to the boxes. To the side of the rack was a mini fridge full of water and soda. She slammed her hand spike on the rack to get his attention. He jumped up in his seat and looked over. She pulled out glass bottles of Coke, Pepsi, and Dr. Pepper. He swallowed the food he had in his mouth and said, "Dr. Pepper." She put two bottles back in and took out two Dr. Peppers, shutting the fridge.

Ezra walked over and twisted the cap off of one, tossing the cap onto the table and setting the bottle by his food.

"Thanks" he said. She twisted her bottle and set it by her food, sat down, and began to eat.

In the middle of a bite, she picked up the paper and wrote something down.

 _Ezra._

He swallowed his food and hummed interrogatively. "What?"

 _You are Dillon. I am Ezra._

"Oh. Well, nice to know your name now, Ezra." He speared his fork into his food and took another bite. She put the paper down and resumed eating….

When they were done she took the trash and tossed it into a large black bag by the door. She walked over to the couch and turned over the paper.

 _Is Dillon tired yet?_

"No, not really. I could stay up a bit longer." She looked at him and wrote down a few words quickly.

 _How come you are still happy? I shot you._

"What do you mean? There's no reason to be mad at you. Again, what use is it to be enemies with possibly the only other living being on earth? I _want_ to be friends with you and I _want_ you to be happy. It must be so hard and sad living alone for all these years without someone to talk…" He looked at her scar on her neck. "…To… let me rephrase that. I would love for you to be nice, and for me to return your kindness. I want to keep it that way. Like I said… I want to have good relations…" he looked her in the eyes. "…With one of the few people on earth. Can you please stop being timid? It… really… doesn't help. It sucks being sad. I tried being sad at one point… and it didn't help." He rubbed her shoulder again, but more slowly. "But being optimistic about things led me to here… and it, by fate alone, led me to you. While I would rather no have been shot by a 40 gauge…" he said as he looked to her shotgun. Dillon chuckled. "It still led me to one of the most open and honest lucario I've ever met. No wonder the virus didn't get you. You're so… different." Her ears flattened. He patted her shoulder and she looked at him. "I like different." She picked up the paper.

 _I tired. I take couch. You need heal on bed._

"Nah, you've done so much for me already." He finished off his soda and set it on the table. She shook her head and grabbed both of his shoulders. She shook her head again, vigorously. Ezra grabbed the paper again.

 _Heal. You need heal. Couch no help heal._

"Al… alright, Ezra. If you want me to." He stood up and walked over to her bed. She ran over and hit a switch, which turned all the lights off except for a small light by the switch. "Goodnight, Ezra" he said through the thick darkness. She hopped onto the couch, using the armrest as a pillow.

Being a canine-like creature, she had fur. She still had fur. While the blanket was comfortable, it was not needed. So she slept fine.

She did a good job with the bleach, no Betas scratched on her door that night, which, thankfully, caused Dillon to rest well. But for Ezra, on contrast, was restless. She spent the first few hours awake, thinking about Dillon. He made her have that warm feeling in her when she played with the eevee, when she rested with her master, and when she had the ramen. While the ramen wasn't as immersing, it was still there. That warmth was something she hadn't truly felt for a while. She forgot what humans called it; it had been so long since she actually communicated with one. She was surprised that he could still speak fluent English. But about that warmth… she faintly remembered what it began with.

 _An… 'l' sound…._ she thought as she drifted to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

The watch sounded the next morning, signaling the sun had rose. With Ezra's very, very sensitive ears she got out of bed, or rather, got off the couch and pulled a lever on the other side of the room, causing the steel trap to open. She shuffled over and opened the panel, glanced over the cameras and turned a key. The lights in the room dimmed a little as the generator started. It started and she took it off of battery power.

Ezra looked over to Dillon as he slept. She figured that he needed his sleep. She grabbed a paper from the drawing desk and wrote him a note.

 _I get firewood for winter time. You stay and rest. You hear noise, look at camera in steel box by bed. I back in 30 minutes to check you._

She put the pen down and put the note on the coffee table, grabbing her shotgun and leaving, locking the door so that he couldn't get out and others couldn't get in.

She got in the truck and drove to the woods.

When she got to the chopping stump, she looked around the area for the axe. Ezra saw it by some metal pellets covered in blood, and picked it up. She dusted the belly of the axe off and found a tree to chop down.

After divvying up the tree she tossed the bundles of wood into the back of the truck, and drove back. She had an aching feeling that there was going to be a Beta outside, most likely a ghost-type. Betas were extremely sensitive to ultraviolet light, and couldn't come out when the sun was up. She thanked God that she lived in an area where the sun shone on her house. The Betas lived in the office complexes a few miles down into the city, since the buildings offered up shade. But they still preferred to go inside. Every now and then, she would drive down the sunny streets and glance at the Betas, reminding her what she was living for.

And even then she didn't know what she was living for.

The reason why some ghost-types can go out in the sunlight is because they can create their own shadows, but not for long. The longest Ezra had seen was 13 minutes. And that was with an infected darkrai.

She got there, and her suspicions were confirmed. A human that looked exactly like Dillon was standing on the outside, darkness pooling at the feet as if it were being poured with shadows, peeking through the small window. She stopped just out of earshot from the Beta, and readied a rifle that was stowed behind her seat. She cocked the rifle, aiming for the thing's head. Ezra was at such an angle that if the bullet went through, it wouldn't hit the building. She aimed, and fired. The head of the creature was enveloped in a pink mist, splattering the door with blood. The creature fell to the ground and began changing color. Ezra got back into the truck and drove over.

There lay a dead zoroark with bony spikes sticking out of its arms and legs, and the lack of red hair. The zoroark had a blackish-purple fog coming out of its mouth and nose, an obvious sign it was infected. She kicked the creature over to the side and opened the door, running inside to find Dillon cowering in fear behind the couch.

"I-I-I didn't know what it was! It just kept asking to come inside! It looked exactly like me! Why would it—" Ezra put her hand on his chest and went over to shut the door, locking it. She jogged over and picked up her note, flipping it over.

 _That was an infected zoroark. It try trick you to open door._

"I-it was? You didn't kill another human?" She shook her head.

 _If you're used to seeing dead bodies, you can look at it if you want._

"No, no. I-I'd rather not, thanks." He pulled a slightly nervous smile. She returned it and went to the rack. She banged on it to get his attention. "—Jeez!" he yelled. "We need to get a better communication system going, Ezra." She smiled and held up a few bags of breakfast food.

"Um… the second one." She put the bags down and brought two to the stove, boiling some water and sitting down. She let her head flop over to Dillon's direction, and she huffed. "Nothing much," he replied. "You?" Ezra picked up a new piece of paper and wrote.

 _I'm surprised you actually understood me._

"Really? It isn't that hard to read people if you've been with them long enough." He sat back. "That huff you gave me was somewhere along the lines of 'what's up?' right?" She gawked and nodded. Ezra held up a finger and wrote.

 _Okay, guess what I'm thinking._

She put the paper down and looked at him, blowing her cheeks out and holding up three fingers.

"How long, when, or when is it done?" She nodded vigorously and smiled. Ezra held up her hand and took in a breath, preparing for the next expression. She took two fingers and tapped her nose twice, looking at him. "In two years." She nodded again and perked one ear towards the stove, hearing the water boil. She hopped up and poured the water into the bags, sealing them shut and setting a timer. She went over to the drawing desk and got out a sheet of paper, walking over to Dillon and writing.

 _What is leangwisticts?_

"Um… I think you mean l-i-n-g-u-i-s-t-i-c-s. It means the study of language… or something along those lines." He huffed. "I majored in that because I wanted to improve my second language: French." She raised an eyebrow. "You know… French? Pretty language? Weird street regulations? Screwed-up numbering system? French!" He held his good hand up as if squeezing an imaginary ball. She shook her head. "Um… okay. Eugh… Je t'aime? Mais le pomme de terre de demi est tres gras?" She gawked and nodded hard. "Right. That's Fench. Fr-French, I mean. I majored in that to improve my accent… natives don't take kindly to people that can't speak it properly." He chuckled lightly. She smirked with half of her mouth and wrote again.

 _Why does that matter to you fixing my voice?_

"Oh! Um… I… you'll see." She turned her head sideways and pointed to the paper again. He patted her shoulder and shook his head. "You'll see. Tr—" The timer went off, making him jump. "—JESUS!" She smiled and walked over, preparing the food. She stuck a fork in both of them and walked over, putting the food down and jogging over to the rack of food. She too out a can of powdered milk and mixed it in with some water, bringing another glass of water to the table, along with the can and her milk. She pointed to the can.

"Oh. No, thanks. Water's fine." Ezra sat down and began to eat.

When they were done, Ezra cleaned up like usual, and sat down. She looked at him with a sideways ear, the other standing up. "I don't know… maybe I could help you get the wood?" She looked at his arm, and stood up. She turned to him and spread her arms out, like a bird. He stood up and did the same, with no difficulty. She flipped her hands up, as if holding plates in them. He did it too, again with no trouble. She put her hands down and held her arm out, like a butler holding a towel or cloth napkin. He put his injured arm on the underside, lifting her arm. He winced a little, but he managed to lift her arm up with her pushing down on him a little. She drew her arm back and nodded, smiling. She unwrapped the bandage, looking at the wound. She pushed back some clothing and saw that the entry holes were closed up and in post-scab already. He looked at it as if it was normal, but she looked at it with surprise in her eyes.

"Must me my immune system. Virus… you know?" he said. She calmed down a little and nodded. She smiled and patted his chest, walking past and unlocking the front door. Ezra opened it and went to the truck, Dillon following behind. They got in the truck and drove away from the warehouse, to the forest. He heard a small ticking noise inside the glove box, so he opened it. He dug around a little and held up… a watch. He examined it a little, admiring the total lack of age it showed.

"Hey, Ezra?" Dillon said. She took one hand and placed it on the dash and tapped her finger. "When's your birthday?" She hissed a little and fumbled with the clock by the radio. It was really inaccurate, and she didn't even calibrate it properly anymore. Ezra fumbled with some buttons and it displayed a time of 12:11. He hummed for a second and looked at the watch. "December eleventh?" He answered. She nodded and put both hands back on the wheel. He looked at her, and then the watch again. "When—what year?" She slicked her tongue and fumbled with the clock again, getting frustrated and smashing the dash. In doing so, she made the clock glitch into displaying numbers it shouldn't. She pushed some buttons again, this time showing 19:79. Dillon looked at the watch, seeing the year was 2008.

"Hmm! Almost 30, you old hag!" She scoffed and punched him in the arm. Ezra was turning 30 in a few days. "Though, you're not alone. I'm turning 27 in… two months," he said with a smile. She gasped and rubbed the spot where she hit him. He chuckled at that. "That make you feel better, Ezra?" She nodded. They parked on the road and stepped out, Ezra holding a shotgun. "Hey… buddy?" She turned to him. "Why do you have that? Can't you use… pokémon moves?" She shook her head and turned around, pointing to her, admittedly small aura sensors. "Oh. Right, sorry. Birth defect…." They walked into the forest, Ezra setting the shotgun down and found the axe, looking for a sizable but manageable tree to chop down. She found one and, with one mighty swing, cleaved the trunk from the Earth. It fell away from them and slightly to the left, a perfect angle for Ezra to chop up the tree. She made chunks about the size of a milk jug, and tossed them over by the chopping stump.

Once that was done, she put one on the stump and split it into four pieces. She did the same with another, and went to Dillon, who was leaning on a tree, watching her. She picked up a spool of twine off of the ground and handed it to him.

"Yes?" he asked, looking at the twine. She pointed to the pile of split logs she just chopped, and held up eight fingers. She them made a motion to wrap them. "Eight in a bundle?" he said. She nodded and smiled lightly, going back to the stump to chop up the wood. He began to bundle them and toss them to the side, using a small knife he had folded up in his pocket to manage the twine.

It was a lot of wood, and in a short time. The two made at least fifteen bundles, enough to last them winter. They began to traffic the wood to the truck bed, two at a time. By the time that was done… the two were desperate for a break. Ezra's muscles were fatigued and Dillon's hands had little calluses on them, along with a small cramp in his left. Ezra hoisted the shotgun onto her shoulder and grabbed the last chunk of wood, loading it into the trunk. She did the drill with the bleach, capping it and throwing it in the backseat. She sighed and slid into the driver side, joining Dillon, who was already buckled and resting his eyes. She reluctantly turned the ignition and drove to the warehouse.

When they got there, they didn't even bother with unloading the truck. They just flopped in and onto the couch and fell asleep.

They both were extremely tired for some ungodly reason, maybe due to the fact that Ezra chopped two trees down with no breaks in the span of a few minutes. Then again, her form wasn't built for endurance. She was a strong one, that's a given. But Ezra had horrible aerobic capacity.

Dillon was a little better than her, and if it weren't for his arm he could've helped her with chopping. Military training still stuck with him all these years, but he gained some chubbiness. The muscle mass hadn't changed much, for better or worse, yet he somehow had a surplus of food. Then again, gaining ten pounds over the course of 8 years should be an achievement to many.

Ezra woke up straddling Dillon; he was lying on his back on the couch while she sat on his hips. She sat up and scratched her ear, her vision a little blurry from sleep. Her chest spike didn't hurt him. Mainly because there was a lack thereof. She cracked it in a training accident many, many years ago. And only in the recent years did it crack fully and fall off. She found an angle grinder and smoothed it off so that her bed didn't tear up. Her hand spikes were much, much smaller than normal: nearly disappearing. They weren't even visible. She had to pull back a little fur to expose them. Yet there was no practical use for them anymore; she couldn't use aura. So the lack of spikes were a benefit.

Ezra also woke up to the not-so-gentle beeping of the watch in the truck. She opened her eyes and cringed, slowly getting off of Dillon. It wasn't a problem either, considering that her thighs didn't have the awkward cut-off of blue and black. The hip blended seamlessly from blue to black, like a normal person's thighs. And, being a lucario, she was able to hop away and to the door with little to no sound. She breathed a sigh of relief as she landed, opening the door and silencing the watch in the truck. She went in and locked the door, did the same drill as she did the night before, which woke Dillon up.

"Uh—hey—huh? Wh… what's up… Ezra…?" he slurred as he sat up.

She turned off the generator and the lights flicked off for a few moments, before flickering back on at the sight of battery power. Dillon blinked hard a few times and sat up more, going to the boxes. He pulled out the soldering wire and a nail, setting it on the coffee table. He pulled out his box and laid it on the table, picking up the nail and setting it by the stove. Ezra looked at him with a sideways ear and a confused look.

"I'm going to start making that thing I talked about earlier!" he said with a smile. She grinned and smiled back. He lit the stove and stuck the tip of a cloth bellow into a space between the edge of the door and the stove itself. He went to get a pair of pliers and grabbed the nail with it, sticking it in the stove for it to heat up. Ezra tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned around to see her holding a pot of water. He hummed and sidestepped away, making room for her. She put it on the stove and went to sit down. Dillon joined her. She picked up the paper and wrote.

 _How is this going to work?_

"The device?" She nodded slowly. "Oh. I'm going to have to shave a little hair off of your neck so the electrode can touch your skin. Then… I'll just draw out the schematics, okay?" She passed him the paper. "So… connect this… I'll use the nail and the wire… just a little silver in here… this box can be put here… and voila!" He passed the paper to her. She saw a cross-section of her throat, and where the nerve for her vocal chords where. She pointed to it. "Hmm?" he asked. She spread two of her fingers apart and together. "That's… where it's cut?" She frowned. "Aw… it'll be okay once I'm done." Dillon sat there for a moment, trying to think of other ways to conceal the device. "Hey, Ezra?" She turned to him, smiling. "For the sake of… aesthetics… are you a guy or a girl?" He started to sketch on the other side. She bit her lip. "What's wrong Ezra?" he asked, looking at her. She shook her head. "W… why not? What does it matter? I just want to make the device look good… like a locket or an earring." He rubbed the bottom of his chin. "I'm not going to think any less of you if you're a girl… I'd actually be intimidated. Even I can't chop down a tree with one hit." He laughed and went back to sketching. "You'd be a pretty tough woman in my opinion." She sat there, licking her lips. With shaky hands, she took the pencil from his hand. He looked at her as she wrote down…

 _A girl._

He sat there with a smile.

"Well that makes things a little easier! I saw a few pieces of scrap metal that would do the trick. They have the right shape." She sighed lightly, rubbing the side of her arm and turning away. "And I think I'm going to hit the town tomorrow for a few other things… that is… if there's a shop with 2 millimeter chain-links." He muttered the last part to himself, so quiet even Ezra couldn't hear. She was about to ask what he whispered when he said, "Your water is boiling." She perked up and went over, putting the water in the bags and zipping them shut, setting the timer after. She went over and sat down, closing her eyes as she sat back.

"I had a small hunch that you were a woman," she heard him say. She opened her eyes and looked at him. "I guessed that you were a regular girl, or a well-endowed guy. Either way," Dillon turned to her with a smirk plastered on his lips. "You got a lot of baggage in that trunk you got there, missy." Her eyes darted open and she punched him in the shoulder, just high enough so that it wouldn't hurt his shotgun wound. He held his arm and laughed as she scoffed and crossed her arms. He chuckled again and put his hand on her shoulder. "It's just a joke, buddy," he said, his smile dying out into a smirk. Her shoulders relaxed and her arms uncrossed, but she was still a little aback about his statement. She turned to him and gave him a playful scowl before going to the stove, since the timer went off. He went there too, to pump the bellow. He compressed the bag, making the charcoals heat up, bringing the nail to a blistering heat. His elbow brushed against the inside of her thigh, just above the knee. If it weren't for the lack of control for her vocal cords, she would've exhibited a loud shudder. But instead, all that came out was a hasty breath. The only time she thanked herself for having that disability.

She decided to not bring up the topic that evening, rather, to finish pouring the water into the bags.

She did so, set the timer, and sat down. Dillon still sat on his haunches monitoring the nail, seeing when it was close to melting. He opened the door to let some heat out into the warehouse, and went to sit down with Ezra.

"So… once I make the device… you'll have to go through phonetic training," he said, sketching the device. She raised an eyebrow. "You see… pokémon can only pronounce phonemes in their name." Her eyebrow softened, but she was still a little confused. Judging by her ear still slanted to the left, he guessed so. "Your species name, lucario. You can only pronounce 'l', 'oo', 'cah', 'cuh' ree', 'r', and 'oh'. Words like 'car' will be easy for you to pronounce." She nodded. "But words like 'ham' and 'jock' will be hard. There's no 'h', 'm', 'j', or open 'o's. You follow?" She nodded again, a little slower this time. "Now, there's a few ways you can go with phonetics training: British, New Jersey, French, Russian, and American accents. I can teach you any of those, after giving you a sample of each. Okay?" She nodded once more, not really understanding much of the accent names. She could pick out American and French, though.

"Due to the lack of vocal chord usage, they _will_ be pretty loose once you get them working. Your voice will be very baritone for the first few days or so. But after that, your voice should be normal.

He took the nail out of the oven and grabbed the spool of soldering wire. HE went over to his box and began to carefully weld wires into place. He fumbled with wires and referred to his sketch every now and then. He jumped a little when the timer ran out. Ezra got up and took the bags to the table, silverware and all. Though she thought Dillon was rubbing his hands and scratching his chest, when she looked over to him she saw him doing… something quite different. He did this before every meal, and it was odd to her. His hands were together and pointing upwards, head bowed and eyes closed. He muttered some things that were too quiet for her large ears to dial in to. She waited for him to be done, even more confused when he… 'scratched' his chest. She tapped his shoulder.

"Yes, Ezra?" he asked. She picked up a new piece of paper.

 _Why do you do that?_

"Do what?"

 _The thing._

She put her hands up like he did.

"Praying? Why not?"

 _Praying?_

"Um… you know Arceus, of course. Right?" She rolled her eyes and motioned for him to go on. "Well, I pray to someone like Arceus. That person… he's… he's my god," he said quietly. "I talk to him. I love to talk with him. And though he's pretty keen on keeping his mouth shut…" He looked to Ezra. "Sometimes he talks back." He smiled. "I like to thank him for everything he has given me. I treat every day as though it is my last. I be thankful for the food I eat, and," He rubbed her shoulder. "Rarely, the people I eat it with."

Ezra lightly gasped, not only at his notion, but the fact that there was a shininess glowing in his eye. And, for the first time ever…

She saw a human cry.

A bead of teardrop slid down his cheek and under his chin, climbing down his neck, creating a ribbon of gleam on his face. Ezra looked away, ashamed that she made a human cry. Pokémon and their emotions were generally not important in the community she was born into. They usually passed off any emotion that wasn't anger or happiness. And if they invoked emotions that weren't desired, they would be punished. A small instinct inside her bypassed all she had learned for so many years, and told her to apologize.

She turned to him and put her hand on her heart, closing her eyes and looking down. Dillon wiped the tear from his cheek.

"N-no… don't be." She shook her head and picked up the paper.

 _But I made you cry._ He took in a shaky breath and spoke, breath hitching sometimes from his crying.

"Why are you sorry about that? Sure, you did, but it isn't out of sorrow. I'm happy I can finally say I ate a meal with someone. I'm happy I can say I ate a meal at all." She shook her head and put both of her hands on his shoulders, trying to shake some sense into him. Dillon put his hands on her waist and slid them upwards and behind her, like an x. He pulled her in, and turned his head outward and rested it on her shoulder. She froze, and her breathing staggered. Ezra… was not mortified, no. She was more surprised than disgusted. In fact, she wasn't disgusted at all. She… liked it. It brought that special warmth back. "Thank you…" Dillon said. "For everything…." That was the last straw. She, too, began to cry silently on his shoulder. Ezra never really realized the gravity of the situation until now. For years, oh, so many years, she was alone! She tried to be the independent, hardened lucario she was meant to be, but she shattered when she met him. Her real self flowered in the presence of Dillon. It felt natural to show emotion. Any emotion. And right now… it was gratefulness. She was grateful to have him—Dillon, too keep her company. Ezra was grateful to fix a meal of two. She was grateful to have a shoulder to cry on.

"You should never have to feel alone… and you won't. Ever again. I'll make sure if that." He sighed and tried to let go, reaching for his fork. But with her herculean strength, Ezra pulled him back in. She would have been bawling her eyes out, but because of her cut nerve, all she did was breathe heavy and fast. She started hissing, and then she buried her snout into his shoulder. He saw her back rising and falling as she cried. He put his hand on her back, but then she tackled him to the couch, so that his back was on the cushion and she was on top. She was so, so taken by surprise every time he spoke. Dillon felt so familiar. He was just like her master's son…

 _"Hey, give me back my pokéball!" Ezra yelled, jumping up and down, desperately clawing at the air below her pokéball._

 _"Ha! Fat chance, ya freak! You can't even use aura!" a machoke said, holding the ball up. "You're just a fighting type without your powers!" He took a small shard of brick and flicked it into her mouth, making her cough and stop jumping._

 _"You'll never understand the irony of what you just said, Nathan," a tall boy said, walking towards him. "Give her the ball back."_

 _"Wh—and what are you going to do if I don't?" He slammed the pokéball into a nearby brick wall, lodging it in. "I'm stronger than ten—no! Twenty men! That's more than you!"_

 _"So? What does that have to do with anything?"_

 _"It means—oh! You're so fucking stupid." He ran towards the boy, arms outstretched and maw open. The boy ducked and drove his fist upwards into the shorts the machoke was wearing, pulverizing his testicles. He grabbed his crotch and doubled over on the floor, crying. He got up and stumbled away, looking for his master. The boy ran over to Ezra, who was rocking slowly in the corner, knees pulled up to her face._

 _"Hey, buddy? Are you okay? Did he hurt you?" he asked, looking at her face and arms. She shook her head and pointed to her throat. "What did he do?" She tapped her throat and coughed._

 _"I—I… brick… piece…" She pointed to the wall._

 _"Alright, buddy. I'll get you to the pokécenter." He picked her up and yanked the ball out of the wall, pressing the center button. The button flashed red and didn't recall her. An automated voice droned out from it._

 _"FOREIGN MATTER RESIDING ON AND/OR IN POKÉMON. RECALL DENIED. RECALL MAY RESULT IN IRREVERSABLE DAMAGE TO POKÉBALL AND/OR POKÉMON."_

 _"Just… what? Oh, forget it. I'll carry you there!" He shoved the ball into his pocket and carried Ezra bridal style and out of the alley._

 _-Later at The Pokécenter-_

 _"I'm sorry… mister… but due to this… "foreign matter"… we will not be able to recall her and heal her throat. It will have to be done surgically."_

 _"Wh-what? I'm not putting my mother's pokémon under a hot knife!" He slammed the pokéball on the counter, rattling everything in the room._

 _"E-I-umm… I'm sorry. We don't have the tools to do this without any incisions. And if she doesn't get the care she needs in the next ten minutes…" nurse Phere looked at Ezra. "She'll die from either blood loss or suffocation." The boy hissed and circled the room, trying to figure out what to do. He stopped when he saw her face. She held her throat, small tears matting the fur on her cheeks. He couldn't take it anymore. He speed walked to the counter and slammed his fist on the counter, making the screen behind the nurse glitch._

 _"Take her to the next available PHTF room. Now." Nurse Phere pressed a button and two men in white uniform came out with a padded gurney. Ezra coughed and stood up._

 _"S-since you're her closest on command," the nurse began. "You will need to consent to this surgery." She pulled out a binder and flipped through the pages, finally stopping at one labeled "Open Throat Surgery." She then began to read several guidelines._

 _The boy nodded when she was done and she pulled out a clipboard with an agreement paper. He signed it and Ezra went onto the gurney, the two men in white wheeling her away past two doors…_

Ezra finally calmed down and let go, sniffling and wiping her nose. She looked up at Dillon, who was smiling, but not crying.

"You should be yourself more often. It's not healthy to perform a persona that isn't yours. Especially…" He scratched his head. "If you're so different." She smiled and nodded. They both sat up and ate their dinner….


	3. Chapter 3

The next day, the two were relaxing inside, still tired from yesterday's lumberjacking. Dillon was soldering some wires on the coffee table, small streams of smoke floating from it. He was almost done with it: The cylinder and plastic were adequately connected, and he used a glow-in the dark tritium vials and a solar cell, all wrapped in foil as a power source. The tritium would last at least another lifetime, so he didn't need to worry about changing the battery. The entire unit could fit on a quarter, not including the plastic part.

But he still needed a few things.

"Hey, Ezra?" he asked, looking at her. She was sitting at the drawing table sketching something out, and she looked up, smiling. "Do you want to come with me? I'm going to town, just to pick up a few things for this." She nodded and put her pencil down on the drawing table. He stood up and slid his satchel and coat on, and walked out the door with her. She locked the door behind them, and they both walked a few blocks down. She led him to a hardware store. "Thanks! I'll be out in a few minutes, okay, Ezra?" She nodded and threw her thumb backward, pointing to an outlet store. "Kay. I know where to find you. Be safe, okay?" She nodded and walked away.

Ezra pushed through the rusted doors of the outlet store, creaking out particles of rust. She sneezed and walked to a clothing rack. She was thinking about getting a few new clothes for Dillon and bandage wraps. Dillon… it was weird to be technically naked around him all the time. She did it all the time when she was young, and didn't wear any clothes. At all. But the thought clawed at the back of her head so annoyingly, that she went and tried on a few articles. It was getting really cold, anyway. She found a mirror that was without cracks and dusted it off. She found a black sweater and slid it over the top of her head, ears flopping out the top. Ezra slid the neck over her snout and on her neck, shoving her arms in the sleeves.

She looked pretty… pretty. The sweater fit her well. The bottom of the sweater stretched over her waist, accenting her wide hips. She bit her lip and went to find a bottom. She glossed over the racks of pants, shorts, and skirts, until she stumbled upon a rack of panties. She was confused at the underwear, wondering what it was for. She took it off the rack and put it on her head, ears poking out the leg holes. She cringed and took it off. It must've been used for something else… but it was so foggy in her memory. So she inferred. Since the underwear was in the bottom section, she assumed it was for her… bottom section. She slid the panties up her legs and under her sweater, and walked to the mirror. She gasped at how pretty it was, and turned around to see it all. It hugged her, but it wasn't so tight it was uncomfortable. But something told her that it wasn't enough for cold weather…. She jogged over to the skirt rack and pulled off a white miniskirt. She slid it up her legs and zipped the zipper in the back, pulled her tail over the top and slid her sweater over the top of the skirt. She went to the mirror and smiled. It really fit her personality, even though it was so simple. She brushed the dust off her skirt and sweater and went to pick out a few more clothes for bandages.

"Hmm… this casing would work…" Dillon muttered to himself as he browsed the cracked windows of the jewelry store. He was looking for a few things: a necklace chain and a casing for the device. He had to do it today: her birthday was tomorrow. All he had to do with the device was calibrate it to her psychic frequency. For that, he had a device that would scan her. He was trying to do it sneakily, so that he would surprise her on her birthday.

 _Maybe in her sleep?_ he thought. _No, that would be creepy. But she wouldn't notice… maybe I should be upfront with her. I'll scan her when I get home…._ He found an origami owl that would fit the device perfectly. It had a decorative metal grate over the glass, so the device would be hard to see. It was perfect. He tested to see that the clip still worked, and that the chain was still integral after the years it spent in the shop. He wrapped it in a cloth and put it in his satchel. He walked outside and sat down, fumbling with a butterfly knife he had. He heard a few nips and he looked to see Ezra standing out in the doorway, holding a bundle of clothes under her arm. She smiled and started walking. Dillon stood up and followed her.

He was glazing over the sunbaked billboards and the rusty cars in the streets, silent remorse being given. Dillon was doing this when Ezra started walking weirdly. He darted between billboard and Ezra a little, until settling on her stride. Her normal gait and waling pattern just changed. Normally, it was that of a normal girl: slightly more weight on the leg on the ground. But she started limping.

"H-hey, Ezra?" he said. "Are you okay?" She stopped and sat down, looking at her foot. She hissed a little when she found a small shard of glass in her paw pad. She tried to pick it out, but it was too painful for her. She held it and looked at Dillon, nipping and shaking her head. "Alright. Just be careful on that leg for now. I'll look at it when we get home." She tried to stand up, but she stumbled and landed on her shoulder. Dillon kneeled down and picked her up by the armpits. "Alright now… hold my hand."

She propped herself up on her good leg, half of her weight resting on his arm. Her other arm was holding the bundle of clothes when Dillon took it from her and slung it over her shoulder. They both slowly made their way to the warehouse.

When they got inside, Dillon let the clothes hit the ground with a dampened "thump!" He let Ezra hop over to the couch, and told her to lay her foot on it. He went through his satchel and pulled out a small pair of surgical needle-nose pliers. He went over to her foot and looked at it.

"Ah… it's just a bit. Nothing serious. Though you do have an extensive nerve bundle above your paw pad considering how much you hurt…" He grabbed the shard with the pliers. "It will sting. Most likely a lot, I'm not going to lie." She frowned and held out her hand. He took it in and pulled the shard back like a bottle opener. She hissed and wheezed out, gritting her teeth and squeezing his hand. Though she had a lot of muscle, grip wasn't an area of strength for her. He slowly pulled out the shard and laid it on the coffee table.

"Wow. It's just about the size of an eraser head." He laid the pliers on the table and went to the box rack. "What has the bandages in it?" She held up two fingers. Dillon opened the second one and pulled out a wrap. "Silver?" She pointed to the stove. He went over and took the bottle off of the stove's countertop. He went over and put the things down on the couch. "You think you can do this yourself?" he asked. She nodded. He stood up and looked away, silently taking out the scanner. He pointed it to her and it registered a 28-digit alphanumerical code. "Jeez," he whispered. "If that's what it takes…." Dillon went over to the coffee table and pulled out the device. He took two screwdrivers and stuck them into two holes with markings on the rims of them. Looking back and forth from the scanner and the device, he inputted the code like two combination locks. He messed up a few times, and had to start over. "C1D1E9B6… E3E8I7I3?" he muttered every now and then. His hands moved with the upmost precision, until he flinched when Ezra tapped his shoulder. "Ah! Oh…" he said, looking at her. She pointed to the two plates of food on the coffee table. "Sorry… it's being difficult with me…." He chuckled to himself and stood up, walking to the coffee table. She whistled and he turned around. "Thank you," he said, grabbing his food. He went back to the device and kept tinkering. She whistled again, this time on the couch. She pointed to the empty cushion next to her. "Oh! I'm sorry." He picked up his food and sat down with her. Ezra picked up the paper.

 _I was thinking about playing some games tomorrow since it's my birthday. The weather is getting too cold to chop logs anyway._

"Sorry, I have lots of work to do. The device won't be ready for another few weeks. M-maybe tomorrow after that?" Her breath hitched and she clicked her lounge. She nodded and went back to eating, her ears a little drooped back.

When Dillon was done, he tossed his trash into the bag and went to finish the device.

The next day, Dillon was the first to be up. He was messing with a Rubik's cube he found in a box earlier. Ezra's ears perked up and she stood up, her maw opening and showing off her teeth. She smacked her lips and looked at Dillon, confused.

"I have a surprise for you…" he said, putting the half-solved cube on the coffee table. Her eyes widened and she sat up, ears perking. He went over to the counter and picked up something that jingled. He froze for a moment. "Close you eyes… please." She sighed playfully and did so as Dillon walked over to her. She flinched a little when she felt his hands go around her neck, feeling something rest on her chest. There was also a slight tingling sensation on the side of her neck where she felt him smooth something plastic over…. She heard a click and his hands went away. "Open!" he said. She opened her eyes and looked down.

She saw a small case that was slightly bigger than a quarter attached to a fine chain around her neck. On one side of the chain was a thin pair of wires that led up to her neck. She gasped at the beauty of the necklace and held it, looking at the origami owl. She couldn't tell what was inside, but the tree-like metal décor on the glass casing was pleasing. She let it fall to her chest and she picked up the paper. Dillon grabbed her wrist and shook his head. She smiled and went in for a hug, but he stopped her. She frowned and her ears went down, a little saddened. He shook his head and waved upward, opening his mouth and saying, "Ah." She rolled her eyes and….

Surprisingly….

Did the same.

"Ah... AH!" She slammed her mouth shut with her hand. Ezra's eyes darted between the necklace and Dillon, who was wearing a shit-eating grin. "Rio!" He laughed and slapped his knee. "Lu-lucar! Ri rio—o luca o! Lu—" She coughed, and later heaved. Dillon stopped laughing and went to get a soda for her. He twisted it open and handed it to her.

"Easy… Ezra. You haven't spoken in a long time. Take it slow…." She stopped drinking, panting and setting the bottle down. She smiled and hugged him hard. He hugged back, then pushed her away.

"Ri?"

"Remember when I said I had a lot of work to do?" She cocked an eye and let out a sarcastic groan. "Linguistics training!" Her eyes widened and she nodded. "Alright, so…"

—Several hours of English lessons later—

"Last time. Repeat after me," Dillon said in a Seattle accent. "A walk in the dark is a walk in the park."

"A walk in the dark is a walk in the park."

"Casting nails in different pails."

"C-casting nails in different pails."

"I caught a ball."

"I caught a ball."

"I slept in a cot."

"I slept in a cot."

"Good! You're pretty much finished. You've come a long way…" He looked over to the trash bag, which was full of soda bottles. "And let's hope you won't have to take an exercise course..." He looked at his watch.

"Shut up!" She punched his arm. He flinched a little and yawned.

"Jesus. That was tiring. Not that I'd regret it." He looked to the scuffmark on the box rack where she hit her hand spike on. He chuckled and stood up. "So! You wanted to play a game?"

"Oh yeah! I had a few board games and a deck of cards in a… box." She stood up and went over, taking out a few things. "I have… Guess Who… Monopoly… Sorry… cards… and a thing of chess." She took out a large wooden box.

"You said _you_ wanted to play! Take your pick." He smiled.

"What?"

"Pick one." She hummed and took out the deck of cards.

"This one…" she said, walking over to the table.

"Cards… cool." He sat down, rubbing his shoulder. " I played a while back with a kadabra. Though he told me to leave soon after… sore loser." She chuckled and sat down opposite from him.

"You remember how to play?" she said, cocking her head, smiling.

"Which game? There's _tons_ to play." He cleared his throat and took in a deep breath. "21, go fish, poker, trash, solitaire, spider solitaire, _strip_ poker, B.S., big 2, big 3, rummy, black peter, bl—"

"Okay! That's enough!" She covered her ears. He stopped and laughed a little/

"Sorry. Um… how about poker? Have you heard of that?" She uncovered her ears and nodded.

"Yes. I-I think so…"

"Good. Because I haven't the foggiest memory of these rules." He smiled.

"What rules? I thought you just… how about… let's make up a new game?"

"A new game? How?"

"Um… how about…" She took a card out and put it on the table. "Put a card down in the same suit or number." She gave each of them five cards, and put the rest to the side. "You first." Dillon looked at his hand for a second, and then put a card down. "Okay… and if you don't h-have any cards to put down… you… draw until you get one." She picked up a few cards from the leftover pile and put down a card.

"What happens if you get an ace… or things like that?" She grumbled for a second and drew a few diagrams on her old "talking paper."

"Here." She slid the paper over to him.

 _Jack-draw 1_

 _Queen-skip_

 _King-any choice_

 _Ace-any choice + draw 1_

"Eh… draw 1? That seems a little too…"

"Intense?" She grinned.

"Nah. That's fine. Let's play!" He pushed the paper to the side.

"Was it my turn?"

"No, the first one was the one you drew from the pile." He slid the cards over and pointed to the bottom one. "Then my card… then yours… now my turn."

"Alright."

"So…" he muttered as he pulled a card and put it on the table. "Does the suit of the special cards matter?" She put another one after his.

"No."

"Cool." He cringed and arranged his cards a little. Satisfied, he looked at her. "I can see your cards, you know." She gasped and pulled up the cards. "Don't worry… I only know you have all sevens."

"Shut up!" she said, smiling. "You talk too much. Your voice gets a little grating… sometimes." She squinted her eyes and put on an evil toothy smile, slowly hid her face with her cards. Dillon snickered and put down a card. She looked down and drew a few, before setting one down.

"You're such a nut." She stopped grinning like a madman and looked at him.

"What does that mean?"

"Quiet, strong, and very, _very_ sweet."

"Aw… thank you…"

"But leaves an aftertaste in your mouth" Dillon blurted out quickly. She stopped smiling and put down an ace. "Aw, come on."

"That's what you get!" She huffed and flicked her cards. Dillon sighed and picked up a card from the pile. "Spades." He shuffled through his deck and picked up a few more cards.

"Just… wondering…" She perked an ear and dropped the act. "Why aren't you rash? I-it's just—"

"Eh… It just didn't feel right…" she shuddered and shook her head. "It's weird for me to be that kind."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Well… I'm glad that you're you. Still… after all these years…" he put down a card. "Loneliness can be a deadly disease. I-I find it hard to believe that you've kept your surprisingly intact sanity."

"Well… what sort of sanity? I've had few ambitions… and the few that are there aren't really hindered by the desolation." She flicked a card onto his.

"Like…?"

"Like what? Oh. I like to draw. Here," she said, standing up and walking to the drawing table. "Look." Dillon walked over while she opened a manila folder full of drawings. "Most of these are the buildings here. There's an element to them that I find interesting to put on paper." She slid a few onto the table. The detail in the buildings was a daunting feat that she overcame. They all were pencil, no color whatsoever. But it was still impressive to see. "Then there's a few drawings of movement…" she said quietly while pulling out a few papers of little figures playing catch, eating, playing video games, writing, the works.

"That's… impressive. How long have you been doing this?"

"14 years."

"14? Wow. I can barely draw circle." He chuckled to himself. "Beautiful."

"W-would you care for a lesson?"

"A lesson? What kind of lesson?"

"Well… you know. Just a few basics, that's all."

"Thank you. But I would have to decline."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm a horrid artist. I drew a pretty convincing whale once…"

"Really? How did—"

"It was my best attempt at drawing my mother-in-law." Ezra dropped the folder on the table and laughed. She stood up with shaky legs, but fell to the ground in complete waste. She coughed and rubbed her eyes, standing up. She sneezed and grabbed the table, still recovering from the joke.

"Oh! Wo—why—h-how?" She laughed again, but stopped suddenly. "Wait. In-law?"

"In law."

"You were married?" He reached into his jacket.

"Indeed." He pulled off his satchel and laid it on the table. "Here…" Dillon said as he opened a pocket on the bag. "Is a picture of her." He pulled out a small rectangular photograph of a woman dressed in a dark blue gown. Next to her was their son, about three fourths of her height and wearing a black suit. "She was a wonderful woman." Ezra gasped.

"Aw… she looks cute." Dillon shoved the picture back into the bag and zipped it shut.

" _Was._ " He swung the bag over his head and closed his jacket. "She changed… quite a lot after we married." Dillon's eyes, which normally showed a sense of warmth, now… were somehow cold.

"H-how? I'm sorry…"

"Don't be. Before… she would be jumpy and ecstatic. Always, always willing to bend the rules that were there." Dillon leaned on the desk. "We went on dates, made meals together…" He rubbed his neck. "And through our heinous acts we conceived a wonderful child." Dillon stifled a tear. "I miss him. A day won't go by that I won't think of him." He rubbed his chin. "But Linda… after we married she went polar. Complete opposite. I tried to play with her in the mornings… but she said we had to be professional. She was always researching on healthcare and collage plans for our son, insisting on cooking by herself… shutting me out of her personal world…" He cracked his knuckles. "And very hastily, I might add. Literally, the night of our honeymoon she was looking up better schools!" He sighed and sat in a nearby chair. "I thought it was normal. I thought it was normal. I allowed it to consume her. I allowed it to consume _me_. But after it started to affect my son… who could only see her half an hour a day because of the overtime she was taking, I had to bring it up." He chuckled and looked at Ezra, who was holding her mouth and shivering.

"What… happened…?" she whispered. Dillon smiled and shoved his ands into his pockets.

"Well… I walked into her room when she was reading a book, sat down with her, told her I loved her, brought up the issue, hoped that she would understand, and SIGNED THE DIVORCE PAPERS SHE SHOVED IN MY FACE A WEEK LATER!" He slammed a fist on the table, making Ezra flinch. He bent his head down and chuckled to himself. "The only reason I keep the picture is because of my beautiful son… my son… _my_ son." He rubbed a tear away from his eye and licked his lips. "I was so grateful to have custody. So… very grateful." He looked up at Ezra. "I treated every day with him as though it was my last. And… eventually…" He stood up and gestured to the outside. "Lo and behold!" Dillon slumped back down and began sobbing into his jacket. Ezra stepped over to him and rubbed his back.

"No… no. Don't… please…" Her ears folded down as she looked at his hair.

"I… I'm sorry." He looked up, free of tears.

"For what? You're—"

"For scaring you."

"S-scaring me? No… you never…"

"I have. I can see it deep in your eyes." Dillon stared right into her rubies, deep into the thick pupil. "You don't have to be scared. I should never scare you."

'But—" The watch in the truck went off. Ezra stood up. "I'll be back." She went out and did the drill: bleach, power, and boiling water, the works. She sat down on the couch and patted the cushion next to her. Dillon stood up and sat down next to her, sighing and laying his head back.

"In truth… all I have…" He slowly reached into his jacket and pulled out a paper. "Is this." He passed it to her and she took it. She slowly unfolded the paper. Ezra was a little confused. It was some sort of legal note.

"Um… what is this?"

"It's the deed to my new house. My son and me were going to live there. But… ever since the virus broke out… that never became a reality." He slowly drew the paper from her grasp and folded it back up. "We had to evacuate the city. Apparently Washington would blanket-nuke the city. But shortly after… they found out transmission was possible through human contact. They dropped the plan and tried to set all the uninfected humans in one area. But… that proved impossible considering the 0.000001% mortality rate. Do you know how much that is, Ezra?"

"N-no."

"Fifty people."

"Gosh… I knew it was bad… but…"

"I know. Factoring in that the water supply isn't from the tap anymore, and the fact that nobody knows nor has the guts to kill and skin a rabbit for dinner… we may very well be the last people on earth."

"I-I… I never thought of it that way."

"What was going though your mind when you threw together this doomsday shack?" He said playfully. "That you're going to live alone for the rest of your life?"

"No."

"Well… have a plan." He sighed and stood up, going to the stove. "Always think ahead." He poured the boiling water in the bags and set the timer. "And hope for the best." He went to sit down next to her. "Make amends with your troubles."

"Um… just a tidbit…"

"Hmm?"

"How come you refer to me as a person? I'm clearly not a person." She chuckled.

"Well… I would say otherwise. Curse those trainers…"

"What?"

"Trainers." He sighed and sat up. "Those idiot 10-year-olds that tote around belts showing off how many creatures they ripped their freedom from. Is this the mentality they enforced onto you?"

"W-what?"

"Exactly. They make you think of yourselves as a whole different category of freedom. Everything _you_ do is under the 'watchful' eye of a trainer." He held up fingers and started counting. "You literally get burnt, poisoned, paralyzed, smashed with boulders, stabbed, lacerated, bruised, and break bones. That is the definition of pokémon that is engraved in nearly all of the children! You're a slave. A slave who fights for money and power. A scientist sat in a lab for several years to engineer and perfect a machine that would encapsulate you and your freedom."

"I never had one of those."

"Pokéballs?"

"Oh…"

"To me… a being that is fully capable of throwing together a mutant-proof bunker on a pre-apocalyptic agenda, able to sustain that for many years and survive with the luxury of one-step meals has the capability to do so much more than battle." He looked her in the eye. "What I see sitting in front of me is no pokémon. You are not a slave. You have the most human qualities."

"N-no… I don't."

"You hold some titles that some adults in society could never be! My own dad could never shoot a gun. You're looking at someone you shot. You have the human quality of articulating a firearm! You have the human quality of preparing a good meal! You have the human quality of humor. You have established a routine that few pokémon can comprehend. I don't care what the pokédex says about you… you're human in my book. And you will be treated as such." He stood up and brought the bags to the table just before the timer went off, along with some cutlery.

"Well... I guess I am a person."

"No."

"What?"

"You don't _guess_ you are. You _know_ you are." She smiled.

"Thanks. And… since you say…" she rubbed the back of her neck. "Don't you think I should wear clothes?"

"What do you mean? You look perfectly fine without clothes."

"I know. But it's getting really cold. I actually brought a few things from the outlet yesterday." She stood up and went to the bundle by the door. She unraveled it and pulled out the sweater and skirt. "I thought these would be okay." She put on the sweater, her ears springing out the top. She smoothed the sweater out over her hips and torso. "What do you think?"

Well… Dillon was thinking about a lot of things.

He first thought about why a furred being would need a sweater. Was it really that cold?

And secondly… she looked beautiful in that sweater. He never noticed it until now… but her hips were alluring. The sweater hugged her waist and belly, getting looser as it went up. By the time it got to her sleeves, she had plenty of room to move. Maybe it was the knit design… or maybe the color of it… but he really liked the sweater on her.

"That's a pretty sweater. I'm surprised that it's still intact. Do a little twirl?" She smiled and spun slowly on her foot, stopping when she made a few turns. "I like what I see. Come, eat."

"Oh!" She went over and sat down. "Sorry."

"No need. I like the sweater." He poked her side. She felt a weird surge through her ribs, and she flinched. "Oh… ticklish are we…?"

"What? N-no…" She crossed her arms to protect her sides.

"That's fine. Everyone's ticklish somewhere. Somewhere." He stabbed a chunk of potato in his food and ate it.

When they were done, he took care of the trash and put it in the bag by the door. Ezra was about to go and turn off the lights when Dillon spoke up.

"Hey, Ezra."

"Yes?"

"Sleep in your bed tonight. I'm more than fine to sleep on the couch."

"No! You can sleep there."

"Really? You're going to live on that couch forever? It must get cold over there." Dillon looked at her with a smirk. "How about we trade?"

"No. You take the bed. I can find another mattress somewhere."

"I insist. Sleep there tonight."

"Nope." She went to the switch and turned off the power. Dillon sighed and went over to the bed, kicking off his boots and lipping into the covers.

"Hey…" he said through the darkness.

"Hmm? Dillon?"

"It can get pretty cold over here… too…"


	4. Chapter 4

**HELLO. There is a poll up for voting! Go there to vote about an inclusion of a sex scene! I will close the poll on July 24th!**

 **Just a tidbit, I'm switching keyboard layouts! Have you ever heard of Dvorak layout? Apparently it's faster than qwerty. It'll take some time to learn, maybe a month or so, ergo... updates will be slower until then. This will probably be the last thing I'll type in qwerty until I learn Dvorak completely, so take this chapter as a sending-off gift! Though it's ironic calling it a "gift" considering what happens.**

* * *

He shifted his body towards the wall and rested his head on the pillow. Dillon closed his eyes, wishing that the—normally wonderful—grasp of sleep would take hum away. He lay there wondering when it would. He often found himself staring at the ceiling, into the sky, or sitting on his bed (If he had one to sleep in.) but he urged himself to close his eyes and let his body fall to the mercy of the bed. He lay still, lightly breathing.

At one point his senses began to numb, and he felt drowsy. The warmth of the bed felt natural; willing to catch him when he falls to sleep. It was only then did he feel the faint pressure on his ribs. It spread on both sides of him, stopping when they encircled him. He kept his breathing steady, realizing that she thought he was asleep. He felt the bed change pressure, and a warm head found itself resting on his shoulder blade. He closed his eyes, and fell asleep.

The next morning, Dillon woke to an empty spot on his bed. He wiped his face off and yawned. His eyes fluttered open, finding the room was empty. He sighed and stood up, suddenly realizing how dirty he was. He scratched his head and walked around the room, looking for a door to a bathroom. He did, and opened it.

Inside… wasn't a bathroom. In fact, it was so big, it was considered outside.

It was the rest of the warehouse.

He saw a tub with a curtain sitting in the corner, seemingly dustless. He figured that it was the shower. But what really caught his attention was the large, blue object sitting in the middle of the room. He made careful steps to it, trying not to trip over the objects on the floor.

Dillon… gasped. The object was of a wooden make: stained blue with a clear coat of lacquer. It was spotless. He smoothed his and over it, following the curves of it. Dillon hooked his fingers onto a wooden lip and lifted it to reveal a set of black and white keys.

It was a grand piano.

He couldn't believe how conditioned it was. It smelled of clean, felt like glass, and looked absolutely stunning. He pulled out an equally beautiful blue chair from under it and sat down, feeling the keys. He found the foot pedals, and began to play music. One particular song was apparent as ever: a song he grew up listening to. And a song that he loved. He cleared his throat and began to sing along with the music.

"It's nine o' clock on a Saturday; the regular crowd shuffles in. There's an old man sitting next to me… making love… to his tonic—and gin." His fingers worked the piano like magic. It was a wonder to hear, and it was a wonder to watch. It came like second nature to him. He licked his lips and began to sing the next line of the song.

"He says— "Son, can you play me a memory? I'm not really sure how it goes… but it's sad and it's sweet and I knew it complete! When I wore a younger man's clothes!" His volume increased—both with the piano and his voice. And as he did, he began scatting to the song. Dillon continued to work magic with ease, filling the warehouse with music. This went on for quite a while; not that anyone was complaining. His voice was warm and comforting as he sung.

A while after he began to sing… the song ended. He ended the song with a slow, heartfelt chord that would easily put his own voice to shame. He sighed and stood up, and nearly jumped to the ceiling when he saw Ezra, completely blindsided, standing in the doorway.

"JESUS!" he yelled as he hopped up. "Can you stop scaring me? Please?" He chuckled and walked over to her. Dillon was about to pass her when she stopped him with her hand.

"H-how… did you do that?" she muttered out.

"What do you mean? I've always loved piano. Better question:" He stepped back and looked her in the eye "How come you have a perfectly perfect piano sitting here?"

"I-I-yee-umm… I've been practicing. T-to pass time."

"Really? Show me what you can do!" He backed up and walked to the piano.

"N-no… I'm really bad."

"Bad? There's barely a definition of bad in piano. You're either good at reading music, good at playing from memory, or both." He stopped for a second. "Are you intimidated by my musical ability?"

"Very."

"Well… how about this…" he turned around. "You give me drawing lessons… and I give you piano lessons. Capiche?"

"That… sounds fair. Alright." She walked to the piano and sat down. She looked at Dillon with worry, hands resting on a few keys.

"Go ahead. You don't have to sing." She sighed and began to play. It was a little basic by his standards: a 4/4 beat with a basic bass clef sequence. But what surprised him is that it sounded like a duet. Her left hand was whizzing all over the place while her right was playing the melody. The song repeated a few times until it reached the end, resolving a chord in the bass area.

"W-well… how was it?" Dillon hissed in some air and groaned.

"Uh… I don't know… it was a little too…" Her ears flattened and she stood up. "Amazing." She freezed.

"Really?"

"Really!" He laughed. "How much time have you spent learning that song?"

"Um… a little over a month. Maybe more… I found an old tape of the song… and played it by ear."

"Interesting… very interesting. So anyway… can I use the shower? I haven't gotten one in a few weeks."

"Oh! Of course. I'll let myself out… there's towels on that table." She pointed to a small nightstand with a few folded towels on it. "And… I'll get you some clothes." She ran back though the door and came out with a pair of sweat pants, a thermal, and underwear. " Do… you need anything else? The soap is in the shower, by the way."

"No. But do you have dish soap and rubbing alcohol?"

"Uh… yes. Why?"

"Mix 'em together in a 1:1 solution and it takes away ALL body odor."

"Sure…" She went in and came back with a few bottles and a cup. "That it?"

"Yep. I'll be quick."

"No! Take your time." She went back in and closed the door behind her. Dillon sighed and mixed the two liquids together, grabbed a rag, and turned on the water. He stepped in and washed himself….

When he was done, he opened the door and set his jacket and clothes on the floor by the bed. He shut the door behind him and saw Ezra, still wearing the sweater from yesterday. She was sitting down, leaning over and sketching out something on the table. Dillon shook his head vigorously, whipping out the water that he didn't get with his towel.

"Thanks, Ezra." She perked up and smiled.

"No problem." She stood up. "Do you like my new skirt?" She brushed it down and smoothed it out. Dillon turned around and looked. He smirked and eyed her up and down.

"It goes well with the sweater! I really like it. How does your tail… manage?"

"The skirt stops just below my tail. It's comfortable."

"Oh. Good." He picked up the Rubik's cube from yesterday and started to solve it a little more. Dillon kind of liked these kinds of toys. Maybe he would hit a toy store in a few days.

"Hey… Dillon. We can't go out anymore until spring. The cloud cover allows for some pretty nasty Betas to come out, almost as if it was night. Just a heads up." And… all his hopes were shattered until the snow melted. He sighed and put the cube down, with two layers and the yellow side solved. Ezra got up and shut the warehouse up, the steel door coming down, sans the power change.

"S-since…" he began. "We can't go outside… why not a few piano lessons?"

"A few?"

"Well, maybe. We can start slow, you know?" He stood up and stretched.

"Okay! What… songs?"

"That's a question for another time. What genre do you like? Jazz… rock… lullabies… which one?"

"Gee. I don't know…" She stood up. "How about that song you sang this morning?"

"THAT one? You want to learn that one?"

"Yeah!" She smiled and jumped.

"That isn't exactly… _easy_ … per se. How about a few off-beat warm-ups?"

"Nah. I want to learn that one."

"Your funeral… your pinkie finger will feel like it's been ran over by a semi by the end of the song." He rubbed his hands together. "Come on…" he said as he walked through the doorway and to the piano.

The seat was wide for both of them to sit, if they rationed enough space.

"Actually… I changed my mind," she said, sitting down and scooting over. "How about some basics?"

"Sure," Dillon said as he sat down next to her. "So… let's focus on dexterity. That one song you performed earlier was great! But that was muscle memory. You need to learn how to reliably have dexterous keystrokes."

"O… kay. How do we do that?"

"Like any other practice. Repetition!" He put his fingers on some select keys. "Try and copy what I do, after I do it. Don't worry, the melodies will break often." He played about half a second of basic music, and stopped. Ezra cracked her knuckles and copied the action. Dillon started to play the rest of the song, stopping a few seconds later. She hissed in some air and copied him. "Alright. You can perform basic melody. How about offbeat?" He put his hands in the higher notes and played about a second of jazz. She tried to do the same… but failed after a few notes. "A-ha! There's the problem. Y—ain't got rhythm!"

"Rhythm?"

"Yeah! Rhythm. Like a heart beat." He chuckled. "You hear the music… but do you hear the rhythm?"

"Probably not. I can't tell," She laughed. "Even with my big ears." She looked at the keys and tapped a few notes playfully, grinning.

"Is it me or…" she looked at him, still tapping the note. "Are you just _really_ happy that your voice is back?"

"Very." She rested her head on his shoulder. "Thank you."

"Not a problem. Not… a… problem."

"How's the arm, by the way?" He hummed and lifted his sleeve, showing it to her. The entry holes were gone, covered by a light-pink tissue.

"Going good, so far. No infections."

"That's the silver."

"M-hm. Thank you for fixing up my arm. Even though you were the one that shot it." He chuckled and pulled his sleeve down. He noticed her ears droop backwards a little. "Hey… don't feel bad. Accidents happen. I'm okay, now." He nudged her side with his elbow. Ezra squirmed a little and chuckled. "Oh… I see how it is…"

"No… don't plea—AH!" She started laughing hard when he tickled her ribs. "Please! Mercy! Oh my—GAH!" She continued to squirm as his fingers dug into her side. She regained some sort of thought and swatted his hands away.

"Got you!" She giggled a little and rubbed where he tickled her. "A little fun fact…"

"Hm?"

"I was playing the right hand of Don't Stop Believing when I was tickling you." Her smile faded.

"So that's the nostalgia I was getting?" Dillon suppressed a snicker, which was later followed by a chuckle. Ezra grinned and laughed too, and they both went on playing piano….

A few hours went by, and Ezra was done.

"That's a lot of piano…" she said as she yawned.

"You'll never guess how long I've been playing." Ezra smacked her lips. "20 years" she said blankly.

"You're off by a month."

"Shut up!" She grinned and punched him in the arm.

"Alright, let's be done for today." He sighed and stood up, stretching. "God… I'm tired. Somehow. Somehow?" Dillon furrowed his brow and looked at Ezra.

"Somehow?"

"Somehow."

"How so?"

"Somehow." They both snickered and went back into… for lack of a better term… the living room. He went to the couch and flopped down, looking for the cube he was solving earlier. He found it and stared at it, trying to remember how to solve it. He sighed and flicked the pieces around, performing an algorithm. When he got to a point where only the edges needed to be permutated, he put it down; not having the slightest clue on how to solve it, sighing.

"What's wrong?" Ezra said, putting the water on the stove.

"Nah… I can't solve it…"

"Solve what… oh! That thing? Hold on…" She put the lid on the pot and looked at the cube. "Oh my! You've gotten closer to solving it than I ever have! H-how…?"

"Algorithms." She cocked her brow.

"Um… instructions?"

"Oh."

"I forgot the one that would finish it… I guess it will never see itself solved…" he tossed it to the side.

"Don't be like that… I'm sure that you'll solve it someday…"

"Yeah…" he smiled. "Someday…"

"You know… since it's almost noon… it might not be as cold outside. Maybe we could get a little more wood. F-for good measure… I mean."

"I'm down with that… how much are we talking?"

"The other half of the tree."

"Alright. More reasons to sleep." He stared at the cube intently, as if it were his mortal enemy.

"Hey."

"Hmm?"

"Be nice to the cube…" She went to the now boiling water and poured it into the bags, setting the timer. "I thought maybe you could get a few more clothes at the outlet, and I could get the wood. Sound good?"

"Really? I thought—"

"I know, I know. But you need more clothes, and I need more wood." She sat down. "And could you get a few more wraps along the way? ER—I mean clothes _for_ wraps."

"Okay. Wraps. Check. Anything else?"

"Nope. Okay… maybe an extra sweater? Grey maybe?"

"Got you." The timer went off a few minutes later, and the two ate. When they were done, Ezra got in the truck and tossed Dillon a digital watch.

"Doors unlocked, I'll be back 'round 2. Kay?" He looked at the watch, reading 1:00.

"Okay. See you." He shoved the watch into his satchel.

"Bye!" She slammed the door and drove off toward the forest. Dillon sighed and hiked up toward the outlet store. He got there and stepped over the broken glass door, glancing over the racks of surprisingly clean clothes. Dillon opened a bag and tossed a few pairs of leggings inside, along with a sweater and a few t-shirts. He grabbed a pair of jeans and a few pairs of socks, tying the bag shut. He slung it over his shoulder and reached into his satchel, grabbing the watch.

1:12.

"God… time to spare…" he put it back in and walked out of the store, slower this time. Dillon kind of liked the chilling breeze nipping at his cheeks. He sighed and stopped when he heard a can clink to the ground. His hand instinctively went into his pocket and grabbed a butterfly knife, instantly opening and turning on his heel. He turned fast enough to see the can that fell to the pavement. He shuddered and presumed it was the wind he was so fond of. His knife folded up and slid into the satchel, and he continued walking.

He got to the warehouse, or, in an informal sense, the house, and found that Ezra hadn't come home yet. Dillon swung the large door open and shut it behind him, locking the door with the key he had.

"Course… course… course…" he muttered for no reason. "Bah. Maybe I should help Ezra…" he grabbed his jacket and tossed it on. He stuttered at the door and slowly went to the couch, sitting down. "God… I can't walk that far…" He blew a raspberry.

"Hey." Someone said. Dillon flinched and hopped up, very confused. It sounded omnipotent; Dillon couldn't figure out where it came from.

"What?"

"Wow. You actually responded?" the voice chuckled. "I'm over here." He shook his head and clenched his skull.

"Where?"

"Here."

"Stop with the pronoun games!" he yelled.

"Alright! On the couch." Dillon relaxed a little, but not by much. He turned to look on the couch, only finding a pen and the Rubik's cube sitting on the arm.

"Where… on the couch?"

"By the pen."

"I don't see you."

"The cube!" His eyes darted to the cube, resting on the arm. He picked up the cube.

"You're this?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"W-what do you mean? Does it _look_ like I know what I am?" He cocked a brow. "Let me rephrase that… does it look like I know _why_ I'm a cube?"

"N… no."

"Okay. Jeez. I was just… testing with you."

"Wait… testing?"

"Yeah. Testing."

"What do you mean testing?" Dillon sat down.

"Well… some people can hear me. I don't really know why. And quite frankly I don't really care. I wanted to see if you could hear me. That dog sure couldn't with those hears she had…"

"Don't call her a dog!"

"Okay! It's been a while… alright? Cool your jets, dude."

"Fine. But why did you talk to me… now? In-instead of earlier?"

"I didn't want to make you look like a mental patient in front of her. I just didn't. Now… is the perfect time!"

"Okay… when did you start talking?"

"When? Oh, man. _That_ was a while ago. Do… you remember the times when VHS and Betamax were still competing with each other?"

"Oh, my God…"

"Yeah. I mean—I knew I existed before that… but until then it was like I was watching life through a T.V. screen. Then… one day…"

"Go on."

"A kid dropped me down the stairs… and it knocked me into the world. Things weren't much different from that point on. But when a kid got frustrated and couldn't solve me…" The cube began to move its pieces around. "I could solve me." The edges that Dillon couldn't get were now solved.

"Wow!" Dillon yelled. "H-how can you do that?"

"Um… lift your left leg." Dillon did so. "That's how."

"How?"

"Jeez… it's like moving parts of my body. I can move this edge here…" one side flicked one time. "And pretty much every axis. Point to any two edges and I can swap 'em for ya." Dillon made a "C" with his thumb and pointer finger and touched two edges. "Alright… I lied. Can't do that."

"What?"

"Okay… what you're asking me to do is the equivalent of me asking you to tap your left elbow with your left hand." Dillon cringed at the thought.

"Right. Sorry."

"That's fine." After that… there was a few moments of awkward silence. Then Dillon spoke up.

"Why… well—do you know… any other things that can do…" he stuttered and cringed. " _This?_ "

"What? Talk?" He nodded. "Yes… I met a few. The last one I met was a nice die. She told me her brother didn't wake up. One day… she got separated from him. I think I saw her in some trash pile a while back." A diesel engine could be heard from the outside.

"Aw… I'm sorry." Dillon went and put the cube down on the table.

"Don't be. And—hey…" Dillon turned around.

"Yeah?"

"Speak no evil." Dillon thought for a second, and then smiled. The front door rattled and opened, Ezra bringing in a few chunks of wood. Some snow floated in from behind her.

"I-I-It's c-cold out t-th-there…" she chattered out as she chunked the wood down by the stove.

"You need help?"

"P-p-please." Dillon nodded and jogged out the door, hopping into the bed of the truck and tossing the chunks of wood onto the ground. He dusted the snow off of them and heaved them inside. Dillon shut the door and locked it, going to the stove and putting some water on the burner. He turned around to see Ezra quivering on the couch.

"You… okay bud?"

"I… was… so… very… wrong…" she stuttered. Dillon smiled and went to get the blanket from the bed. He bunched it up and handed it to Ezra. "Thank you." She hugged it and spread it out.

"H-has it been this cold before?"

"No… not since I was little… no." She glanced over to the stove. "What you making?"

"Broth."

"Broth?"

"Yeah. Have you had chicken noodle soup before?"

"I think so. Yeah."

"Well… broth is that liquid the noodle's in. Hold on…" Dillon got up and went to the boxes, taking out a glass jar. He opened it and took out a small cube and unwrapped it. "This is how it's made. Er—one way of making it." He went over to the boiling water and dropped the cube in it. "I loved to sip a bowl of broth after a cold day outside… when I was little." He grabbed a plastic fork and broke up the cube, dissolving it into the water. "It was so warm and smooth… _tasty_ too." Ezra's mouth watered a little at the thought of such delicious broth. Dillon stopped stirring and poured the broth into a bowl. He wrapped a towel around the bowl and took it to the table, sitting down. He brought up the bowl to his mouth and sipped a little.

"That sounds… nice." She looked down.

"Would you like some?"

"Please." Dillon passed the bowl to her.

"Ke—" Dillon yawned. "Keep the towel on the bowl. It's really hot." Ezra put down the now empty bowl and smacked her lips.

"What was that?"

"Ne… ver mind." He cleared his throat. "So… what now? We clearly can't go outside…" he looked to the slightly damp floor near the front door. "Too cold."

"Yeah. The… broth was good. Thanks."

"No problem." Dillon got up and went to get a soda.

"Hey, Dillon?" Dillon turned around, opening a Dr. Pepper.

"Yes?"

"Can we play some more piano?"

"Nah. Your fingers need to rest. 'Probably have some borderline calluses. If you were to play what we were practicing _now_ …" He chuckled and sat down. "God have mercy on your fingers." He chugged a little and set it on the table. "This is going to be a lo-o-ong winter."

-Several Months of Winter Later-

Dillon kicked the front door open and jumped onto the hood of the truck, sighing.

"God, I missed the sun!" he said as he flipped over and laid on his back. Ezra walked out and laughed, putting the shotgun in the truck. "I can't believe you had to do this eight times _alone_. Just—how did you gnyaa…" he scrunched his fingers and stuttered. "It's incomprehensible."

"No, it isn't. It's a little boring… that's all."

"Quite an understatement."

"Alright… it was the boring-est winters ever."

"That's more like it." Dillon hopped off the hood and walked to the passenger side, sliding in and shutting the door. Ezra got in form the other side and hey drove up to the forest.

When they got there, Ezra got out and jogged to the stump, setting the shotgun by the stump. She unstuck her axe, walked to a fairly large tree, and began hacking at the base. She sighed when the tree began to tip over, walking a few feet before hitting the tree to make it fall faster. When it did, she chopped up the tree and tossed the bits into a pile behind her; where Dillon could take them to the truck.

He grabbed a few bits and shoved them under his arms, walking to the truck. He dropped them into the bed, and flinched when he heard a searing sound. He looked down the road to see a machamp that was literally smoking, limping, and groaning down the road. It left sticky footsteps of grey and pink on the road, leading back to a large tree.

"Ezra…" he yelled. He threw the door open and grabbed his satchel, flinging out his gravity knife "Come here! Bring the gun!" The machamp walked a little faster, and a little more, and soon broke into a sprint. It yelled and spit all over the road, black mist squeezing out of the cuts and gashes in its body. The left arm was heavily deformed; twice as big as the right, sporting several long, bony spikes jutting upward and out. The dark grey skin simmered in the sunlight, screaming for shade. Judging by the volume of the sizzling, Dillon could figure it would be dead within the minute. Just enough time to run to him. And as fate would have it.

"Match. Ahma. Pachamp… MACHAMP!" it yelled as it ran towards him. It screamed and boomed with seething rage. Dillon backed up behind the truck, knowing too well that he could never outrun it. Yet maybe he had a chance with the truck in the way. "Macha-a-a'achamp!" it stuttered with black dust coming from every orifice.

"Help Ezra! HELP!" She was about a bus's length away when he called out to her the second time.

"I'm coming!" she said. Her heels dg into the mud as she cocked he weapon, aiming through the trees. The machamp jumped over the truck and continued running for a split second, driving a fist towards his gut. The punch connected at a slight angle; only the ring and pinkie knuckle touching his ribcage. But it was enough to send him flying backwards. Dillon was heaved upward and tossed down the road from the punch. And, from how the punch connected, he flew at an angle towards a large pile of dirt. His shoulder blade collided with it and he bounced several yards, the first bounce spun hum violently, while the rest slowed him down. He finally stopped when he rolled into a tree, hitting his hip and making him groan and drop his head.

A split second after it punched Dillon, Ezra blew its head off, particles of tissue rolling on the asphalt. The pokémon dropped to the ground, fluids draining out of its neck. Ezra gasped and let go of the gun, dashing towards Dillon. She ran even faster, stopping and kneeling next to him. Her breath hitched in her throat, but she rolled him over. Her ear tilted towards him to listen carefully.

He wasn't breathing.

"No… no no no no. No! No!" Ezra's fingers flinched and contracted. "NO!" She put both of her hands on his chest and began doing compressions. "NO! NO!" She stopped for a second to listen to his breathing.

None.

She let her arms relax, and she picked up his body and hugged him, still kneeling.

"No…" she whispered. "Please…" She squeezed his body and cried silently. "Not today…. Not now. PLEASE!" She squeezed him even tighter as she began to cry louder and harder. Her hands weaved on the back of his head and through his hair, massaging his skull. She couldn't feel or hear anything. Not a thing. The wind stopped blowing, the crickets stopped sounding, and the trees silenced from her perspective. Nothing could bring her from this sensory deafness. She felt no cold. She heard no sound. She only felt the vibrating gift that Dillon gave her resting in her throat. She didn't even hear her own cries. The world stopped spinning and time stopped moving. She was falling into an infinite abyss of thick darkness. Ezra was alone.

All alone.

Alone.


	5. Chapter 5

**HA! Tricked you! That WASN'T the last chapter.**

Somewhere in the darkness… there was Ezra. She sat there, holding Dillon in her arms. It was so quiet. But something rang out in her dark and cold world, clear as day and as loud as ever. A cough.

"You're… hugging me too tight…" someone whispered. All the dark retreated like satin capes, flowing, being pulled into a single point in space and flickering out of existence. Ezra's eyes opened, and she pushed him away, looking at his lively face.

"Dillon!" she yelped before hugging him again, tighter. She screamed into his shoulder and laughed. "Oh… oh…" she panted.

"GAH—air! Please!"

"Oh! I-I-I—oh…" she smiled, still crying, but with joy. "I was so… gna…." She groaned and shoved her lips into his, pushing his head into hers with her free hand. She laughed through the kiss and pulled back smiling, licking her lips and opening her eyes.

But he wasn't smiling.

He wasn't exactly frowning, either.

Dillon's face showed… mixed expressions. But due to Ezra's total lack of human contact for the past few years… she was unable to decipher them all just by looks. She only picked up fear and… an inkling of what she guessed was shock. Her ears flattened and she stood up, covering her mouth. She whispered something unintelligible, shook her head, turned on her heel and ran away.

"No—wait! Stop!" he yelled, reaching out with his arm. He coughed, flinched and gripped his side, feeling his ribs. The bottom one hurt like hell, but he was okay. Dillon stood up and limped in the direction Ezra was running. He stopped when he heard the truck's engine start and speed into the distance. Shaking his head, he jogged to the road and began walking down it, towards the house.

It took a while—a long while, but when he got there, he took note of the front door being wide open, clicking his tongue and walking past it.

"DON'T LOOK AT ME!" Ezra yelled from under a blanket. Dillon jumped and sighed, tossing the door to the side. "DON'T! Just—I-go away… please." Dillon began to walk towards the bed with heavy boots, ignoring her. "I-I said… go away!" He sat down on the bed right nest to her. She whimpered and bawled, sniffled and coughed. She threw the blanket off and yelled at him. "I SAID—" she was silenced on her own accord, slightly confused at what he was doing. He sat down, hands in a fist, bowing over and resting his forehead on his knuckles. "I-e-I… what? You're giving me the silent treatment?" Her own question was answered when she heard him whispering under his breath. She stuttered and sighed, guessing that her jig was up. "I… I ran because I don't deserve you. You deserve better than me. Something—it was a spur-of-the-moment decision. I'm just an animal. A pokémon. A pokémon that can't even live up to the lowest standard." She cried a little and sniffled. "I thought I had a small chance. But… I guess it wasn't supposed to be… you don't love me… and I don't love you…. So… I can leave if you want me to." She stared at the back of his head while he muttered his words. "I'll… I'll leave." She slid off the bed, but Dillon grabbed her arm.

"No." Ezra coughed and furrowed her brow.

"What? I want to—" Dillon stood up fast with haste, a tensed-up look in his face.

"No." He sighed. "Sit down."

"N-no… I—" He turned his head sharply and looked her dead in the eye. "I… um…" she lowered down and swallowed. Dillon let go of her.

"You…" he began. He coughed and held his side. Her muscles tensed. "You're crazy." Dillon chuckled and pat her on the back. "Don't leave. If you were to walk out of that door right now, we would both die." She stuttered. "It would be crazy to think you would leave the one place you _know_ had the things you need. Don't go."

"But—"

"What… are you… scared of? You're so scared… so scared… I'm so, so sorry for making you scared." He pulled her into a hug, and she went stiff for a moment. But after a second she relaxed and hugged him back. "I expected many things to happen when I first saw your face, Ezra. I expected hate, fear, regret. I expected to _die_ that morning. And if I lived… I expected to live on with horrible injury. And… to be frank… that's what I was fine with." She pushed him back a bit and looked him in the eye.

"You… you're… okay with dying?" He nodded slowly. She looked down at the ground, whimpering.

"I've bided my luck too many times, and I thought it was my time to face the inevitable. But…" He looked at her closer. "You somehow found me life," he laughed. "I seldom saw that as a possibility. But the one thing I never—not in a _million_ years… expected,"

"W-what…?"

"Was to fall for the person that shot me down… and brought me up." She stopped whimpering and stopped frowning at the ground in dismay. Ezra looked up, teary-eyed. Dillon relaxed his face and finally returned the kiss… to which she enthusiastically gave in. She broke the kiss and laughed, but Dillon shoved her up and off the bed, hitting the wall.

"What was… that for?" she sniffled, confused.

"The kiss was too short." He wrapped one hand around her waist and the other behind her head, pushing her in for another. Their lips fused together, saliva mixing in between. Ezra prodded his lips, and he gladly let her in. Tongues danced, neither fighting for dominance. She melted in the kiss, loving every second of it. But there was a burning tightness in her chest. Ezra came up for air.

"But… are you sure?" she said, panting. "I'm… I'm a pokémon, Dillon. Don't you—isn't this… weird? For you?" Dillon smiled and rubbed her back.

"I wouldn't have walked 15 miles with a bruised rib and a headache to kiss someone that I found weird. And—stop calling yourself a pokémon! It sounds demeaning." Ezra laughed, but her smile quickly went away.

"I'm sorry! I shouldn't have left you! You must've been in so much pain. I'll I—there's—" Dillon silenced her with another kiss, making her sigh. He pulled back and hugged her.

"It's okay, I've been through worse."

"I'm sorry for that…"

"Stop apologizing so much!" Dillon dug his fingers into her sides.

"Oh-wait—no! PLEASE!" She started laughing, and Dillon pulled her on the bed. He stopped and looked her in the eyes.

"If anything, I should be sorry."

"Why?" she said, her cheek squished against the mattress.

"I've been blind to my own feelings… and yours. I should've said something. I… I shouldn't have held on to those memories of Linda…. I'm sorry. You've—you've felt this ever since I gave you the necklace," he whispered. "Right?"

"I… I… it's okay. Wait—how did you know?" She pulled a confused expression.

"I could hear it in your voice. Plus… you should really give me a warning before kissing me for the first time." Dillon grinned and took off his boots.

"I… uh…" She would be blushing hard if there wasn't fur on her cheeks. "I'm—"

"You can stop being embarrassed now." He smiled and got up to close the door. Ezra chuckled awkwardly and stood up to make dinner. She grabbed the usual bags and threw together the pot and the water, lit the stove and went to sit down.

"Well… what now?" she asked. Dillon hummed and sat down next to her.

"What do you mean?"

"First off… your rib's bruised. Do you need anything? I've never fixed up a bruised rib before…"

"Nah. You don't need anything for those. The only things you need to worry about are broken bones and internal bleeding," he said, sighing. "What else?"

"What's to make of us? What are we now?" Dillon scratched his head and rolled his jaw.

"That's an easy question," he said, raising both eyebrows and putting a hand on her thigh. "We're together." Ezra chuckled and took his hand into hers.

"I guess… that's reasonable. But… how do… what's the label?"

"The label? Who needs a label?"

"Um…"

"Are you wondering if we're on _that_ level?"

"That depends… what does _that_ mean?"

" _That_ can mean a lot of things." He let go of her hand and slipped it around her waist, resting his hand on her right hip. "But that's your choice."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she said.

"Whatever you want it to mean." He reassured.

"I know but—" Ezra thought for a second.

"Think about it." He rubbed her side. "What do you want us to be?" She grinned and held his other hand.

"Since we've never said it… I think we need to make it official."

"What official? Oh… right. Well… how do we do this?"

"I'll go first," she cleared her throat. "You gave me a voice and a life. You've given me someone to cry on, to cry with, and to cry for. You've given me the gift of music. You've given me so much in exchange for so little. You're so strong… and handsome… even though I'm stronger than you. And out of 6 billion people… seven continents and seas… and more than two hundred countries… I had the privilege of being stuck with you." She cried a tear. "I love you, Dillon." He smiled.

"Thank you." She scoffed and head-butted him.

"Then it's your turn, silly!" she said, a little annoyed.

"Alright, alright." Dillon licked his lips. "You've given me a flesh-wound." She chuckled and hummed. "You've given me shelter, and a wonderful body to ogle."

"Shut up!" she whispered.

"You've given me someone to laugh with, to laugh for, and to laugh at."

"I said shut up!" she laughed and nuzzled his chest.

"You've given me a use. You've given me warmth and comfort, and a reason to live in this ugly world. I'm glad I can eat with someone. I'm glad I can talk with someone… and live with someone…" he whispered that last part, letting go of her hand and combing through the fur on her head. "To finally help someone. How long… how long have you lived without a voice… Ezra?"

"Twenty years."

"Twenty… years. Do you… have any other scars?"

"Um… yes. Why?"

"Show me."

"Why?"

"Just show me," he said sternly. "I want to know how many times I wasn't there… when you needed me."

"That… doesn't matter now, Dillon. I'm okay. You're okay. But… here." She scooted back, lifted her skirt a little and pointed to a long line of pink running from her hip to the inside of her thigh. "This… is from an infected zoroark a few years ago. And this…" she pulled down her skirt and lifted her sweater, pointing to her ribs. "Is from an arbok when I was little. But… that's all. I'm okay, now. We're here. You're here. Nobody's been here with me before." She pulled down her sweater and smiled at Dillon. He was calm… but the tear running down his cheek told a different story. "Aw… come on… I'm okay." Dillon wiped his tear off and blinked hard. "Sure… we're okay. Alright." Ezra nodded and stood up to fix the food, and came back. "Hey… about you leaving…"

"What? Oh… I'm—I don't want to leave anymore. Sorry."

"No. You… gave me a good idea, actually."

"So what's this… idea?" she said, sitting down.

"Have you looked outside, lately?"

"Yes, we were just outside. It was sunny out. What's your point?"

"What about the buildings? The piles of cars in the streets? The commercial trash cans? Where do they go and sleep in the day?"

"In… those places. Go on."

"No matter what… how thick the doors and walls are… how accurate you shoot… and how tight our schedule is about sundown… we will never be safe. Never."

"We—I've lived out here for a little while… and I'm sure I can take care of us."

"And look where that's gotten you." He pointed to her thigh. Her ears flattened.

"Right… that… um…"

"Just an hour ago I was almost killed by a Beta in broad daylight. We need to get somewhere _safe_." He pulled out a medium leather-bound book from his satchel. "Now I've traveled everywhere from Rio de Jeneiro to Seward. There's definitely places that are safer than here. I know a nice place in Illinois that doesn't have any creepers…" he flipped a few pages and settled on a heavily charcoaled drawing of northern Illinois.

"What's that? Oh."

"That's a place where we can live. There's…" He flipped the page and found a list on the back of the drawing. "A large tree… an abandoned shack… several tons of wood… and lots of healthy soil." He flipped the page back and pointed to a dot on the map. "That's the tree. The thing's so tall…" he laughed and rubbed the paper between his fingers.

"You… um, want to _move_ there?"

"Yes."

"You're joking…" She smiled at him. "Kind of joking?" Her left ear flopped sideways. He sat there with a blank face. "You're serious."

"Yes."

"Well… what's wrong with here? We can protect ourselves."

"Again… refer to what happened an hour ago."

"Oh."

"Do you want to survive… or do you want to live?" Dillon put his arm around her neck. She chuckled and rubbed his arm.

"I… I think we can make it there. Sure."

"Right. I think… with a little elbow grease we can pack the truck with all the food, some clothes… and the bed."

"Really?"

"Well, yes. The thing can haul all that wood, can't it?" He smirked and put down the book. "Maybe I can fetch a trailer somewhere to pull more…" He sighed and rubbed his face. "Now… when should we leave? Next week… tomorrow…"

"A few months."

"M'kay. Why?"

"Sun's up the longest in the summer. More daylight… less time for… what was it? Creepers, you called it?" She raised a brow and poked his side.

"Yeah. Those. Creepers." Dillon shut the book and slid it back in his satchel. "So summer it is?"

"Summer it is."

-Several Months of Spring and Summer Later-

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"I really thought it would be bigger…" Ezra mumbled as she inspected the pile of food in the bed of the truck. "It's difficult to imagine that this is enough for 30 years."

"Well… we do have seeds and other things for growing crops." He shrugged and tightened the tarp over the pile.

"True." Ezra sighed and walked inside, checking if she missed anything. She looked at her empty drawing table… the foodless racks of food… and the spot where the stove used to be. She looked at the control panel that took months to make. She put so much work into this home. She kneeled down and called for Dillon. "Hey… Dillon?"

"Yes?"

"Can you… what's that thing—the thing when you… _praying_?"

"Praying?"

"Yea. How do you pray? I want to pray for the home."

"You don't have to have a diploma to pray… Ezra." He chuckled and knelt beside her. "Close your eyes… and say what you wish to say to God." Ezra took in a breath and closed her eyes. She stuttered for a moment, then relaxed.

"Through darkest times and… brightest light… you were there to walk by my side. Even though I never knew, I'm still standing here to thank you." She cleared her throat and sighed. "I ask you now to bless this home, to protect it from evil when it's far alone. And to lead good hearts to this place… in hope that it will serve them as it has served us. Let it be a harbor of life everlasting…" Ezra wiped her face and looked at Dillon. "What… what do I do now?" she said.

"Repeat after me…" Dillon said. "In the name of the father…" he put two fingers to his forehead.

"In the name of the father…"

"And of the son…" He moved his fingers to his heart.

"And of the son…"

"And of the holy spirit." Finally, he touched his left shoulder, then his right.

"And of the holy spirit."

"Amen."

"Amen…" she got up and walked to the counter, grabbing the key. Ezra followed Dillon out of the house and shut the door, locking it and leaving the key inside.

"That was… poetic. How—how did you do that?"

"It kind of… just came out…" She whimpered and fell into his arms, crying silently. "I'm going to miss this place… so much…"

"I am too. I… am… too…" he rubbed Ezra's back and leaned over her, resting his head on her shoulder. "Now… come on… we have to go while there's still daylight." She sniffled and got in the passenger side, rubbing her thighs. Dillon heaved himself in the driver's seat, shutting the door and starting the engine.

"Are you—are you sure you can do this leg? I—I mean… I can if you want me to." She wiped her nose and looked at him, her cheeks slightly matted with tears.

"I'd rather do the first part. It's a long drive, anyway. You should… get some sleep, though."

"All… okay." She leaned the seat back a little bit and turned to him, resting her hands under her cheek.

"Plus… you've never driven a trailer before. Let alone with this much weight on it…" he chuckled and put it into drive, slowly pulling out. "And you'll need someone to watch your '6 at night."

"My… '6?"

"You know… you drive at night… and I'll sit on the trailer with the guns. It's a weird system… but it'll be some good insurance."

"Kay. I'll see you in a bit, Dillon." She stretched her arms and sighed, lying down.

"Night." He turned onto the road to the woods. He drove for a few minutes, then stopped. Ezra opened her eyes.

"Wait… what's wrong?"

"I'm getting the axe. I'll be back." He opened the door and slipped out with a pistol. Shutting the door, he chuckled and kicked the decayed machamp's body over, sauntering down the path to the stump. He got there and pulled the axe from it, inspecting the edge. "Dang… that's some wear…" He rolled his thumb over the edge, which was basically rounded by now. "No wonder she has to swing it so hard…" he mumbled. "Woman's a beast…" he laughed out loud and tossed the axe in the air, catching it by the handle. Dillon walked to the truck and put it in the backseat, sliding in and shutting the door.

"Bleach it."

"Huh?"

"Bleach the ground. Betas can follow you by scent if you're not careful about masking it."

"Right. But… it's far, far away. It takes almost a day to drive there. M-most of it is open plains. No Beta could survive."

"With that happened a few months ago… do we really want to risk it?" She nodded to the decaying body by the truck. He opened the window to see. Dillon sighed and nodded, pulling out a small bottle of bleach and soaking the asphalt below the car. He capped it and shut the window, putting it in the backseat.

"Okay… ready?" She grinned and went back down.

"M-hm."

"Alright." Dillon huffed, leeching forward, building up speed. He turned down a ramp and went up a surprisingly empty highway. Signs whizzed past, the dashed paint on the road slid under the truck and trailer as he drove. "Interstate 55…" he said to himself. Dillon wondered if there would be any cars on the road… though it didn't look like it so far. He paid almost no attention to the dashed paint, obviously. There was zero traffic. Zero. He laughed at the thought of traffic at the time… he only met one human in the past few years somewhere around Arizona. He only spoke Yiddish and threatened to kill Dillon if he didn't leave. So he did, and left the man to his own devices. In the harsh reality… he was probably dead by now.

He drove for quite a while, staying on the same highway for around 9 hours. Dillon stopped the car and lifted his hand, measuring the distance of the sun and the horizon with the thickness of his fingers: two knuckles—half an hour to sundown. He shook Ezra awake.

"Hey… hey Ezra. It's time." Ezra's nose twitched as he shook her shoulder. She groaned and smacked her lips.

"Hmm? Dillon?" she muttered. "What's the—oh. You need me to drive?"

"No, you need me to cover you tonight. Listen, Ezra." She rubbed her eyes and was fully awake.

"Yes?" she said.

"The next leg is almost eight hours. I need you to be strong for me, Ezra. I need you to drive… and never stop driving until you get there."

"What… what are you saying?"

"To be honest… I may get hurt tonight. And… if I fall off or I…" he stopped there. "Then keep driving."

"What? No! I already put you through enough stress… I won't risk your life for mine." She frowned and put her hands on his shoulders.

"Then I will." Dillon pulled the shotgun from the back and opened the door. "I love you." He left it open for her to get in.

"I… I love you too." He smiled and climbed into the back of the trailer, sitting on a crate covered by plastic. He cocked the shotgun and slung it over his shoulder, crossing it from his left shoulder blade to his right hip. Dillon climbed over the trailer and over the bed of the truck, coming into easy earshot of Ezra.

"I don't mean to be rude… but we need to keep moving. Who knows…" He got off and grabbed a syringe.

"What's—what's that?" She said. Dillon smiled.

"Caffeine. Blocks adenosine from being absorbed by the nervous system. Keeps me awake longer." He pulled back his sleeve and shot some slowly into his arm, cringing and holding his breath. He pulled it out when it was empty and put it in the back of the truck. "Can't leave scent… now can we? Toss me the bleach." She grabbed the jug and threw it to him. He opened the top and splashed it on the road, leading all the way to him. He climbed onto the truck bed, closed it, and handed it to Ezra. "Thanks." She nodded and let on the gas, making the truck move. It took a few seconds, but it went up to speed. Dillon chuckled and climbed into the trailer, sitting on a wooden crate covered in plastic. He unslung the shotgun and rested it on his lap, enjoying the breeze going by his ears. Steel creaked and groaned every time the trailer went over a large bump, which was only about once every half hour. Ezra drove past tollbooths, empty cars, and piles of trash. But… after a few minutes… those were gone. All that was left was open road, and rolling, grassy—albeit dark due to the sunset—hills. He remembered this: the long walk to the north, of which he never mapped before. Dillon's style was to travel along the interstates, such as route 66 and the like. It took him a little over a month to get from northern Texas to Maine, where he still has yet to map. But… maybe… he won't have to travel anymore. Maybe he can live a quite life… and… hopefully die of old age. Maybe he would be the last human. And, if he were, he would die with honor. He prayed that tonight, though, he wouldn't die. And if he did, he would do it without vein: hoping that Ezra would still make it. She was living in an emotional hell in the warehouse. Nothing… no one to talk to. And the one thing—the Rubik's cube—that _could_ talk… she couldn't even talk to that, sadly. Though that wouldn't do well for her sanity's morale….

A few hours into the night, and everything was going fine. Dillon's eyes adjusted accordingly: he was able to see through the dark. It was surprising how much detail he made out. Dillon could see the blades of grass a few yards from the trailer. He could figure that nothing would sneak up on them from behind… so he climbed up to the front. Dillon grabbed the shotgun and crawled over the crates, onto the cab and swinging himself through the window.

"Ah!" Ezra yelled. "Oh! It's… it's just you." She huffed and scratched her ear. "Goodness… you scared me." She slowly turned her head to Dillon, who was looking at her.

"Hi." He said.

"Hi."

"What's going on?"

"Nothing. The road's been fine. 'Bout you?"

"I-I just figured that whatever might jump at us… will do it from the front. How—how fast are you going?"

"120."

"Ah. Nothing could catch up to us." He sighed and put the gun down. "You doing alright? You seem… _tired._ Would you rather me drive…?"

"Um… may—" she was cut off when something slammed into the right side of the truck. She yelped and swung her head around, looking for whatever hit it.

"God… what was that?" Dillon grabbed the pistol and looked out the window.

There was a silveresque jolteon with cubic spines instead of spikey ones, clinging to the backseat door, hissing. Dillon put a few rounds into its skull, but it still hung on. He groaned when he emptied the gun, tossing it in the backseat and grabbing a small automatic. The metal bolt cocked and he—quite literally—shredded the metal pokémon into slivers of silver. It screamed like a banshee up until its head was completely gone. The rest of the body collided with speeding road, causing bright blue sparks to fly. Claws were still embedded in the door, but at least they were safe. The gun found its way back in the backseat, and Dillon shut the window.

"That… was one weird pokémon. How—I just… that seems really counter-intuitive for a jolteon to transform into a metal... what are they called?"

"I can't remember. I know there isn't supposed to be a steel type or a fighting type. But that's… _really_ irrelevant right now." She cringed and tapped her fingers on the wheel.

"True. True…" Dillon said, sighing and sitting back. He flinched when he figured out the seat was still reclined. Ezra giggled and snickered. He chuckled and put the seat back up, rubbing his nose.

"I wonder… I wonder what God would have made of me if you didn't come along."

"Well… um… I don't know either. But I can't imagine life without you. Er—I CAN but it would be… monochrome." He yawned and looked at his mapping book. "Alright…" he said, looking at the signs on the side of the road. "If we just passed that…" He looked at the digital watch she gave him. "Good lord! We're… two hours behind schedule!" He shoved the watch back into his satchel and looked at Ezra, smiling like a madman. She flattened her ears and frowned.

"Is… is that bad?"

"No! That means the sun will be up when we get there! If we were any faster, we would get to the house an hour before dawn! Do you have any idea how hard it is to unpack in the dark?"

"No."

"Well, you're a lucky one… ain't ya?" She smiled and perked her ears.

"Yeah… I guess so."

"At last… the danger's over…" he sighed and leaned back, resting his eyes.

-Two Hours of Driving Later-

Heavy wheels squeaked to a stop in the early morning sun. The old and tired engine sputtered off as the key was turned and removed. Two doors opened, and two very, very tired figures slid out, stretching their legs and arms. A fatigued lucario yawned and walked with a human wearing a heavy leather trench coat. The man offered his left hand to her, and she took it in, rubbing the back of it with her thumb. She laughed and started to cry, jumping into his arms. He stumbled and fit one arm in the crook of her knees and one behind her shoulders.

The two went to a fairly large house, with a tree that amounted to the height of a five-story building growing yards away from the house. There was a granite well by the house, and acres of grass behind the house. The man smiled and hugged the lucario, letting her down on the porch.

"This… this is it?" the lucario said in between laughs.

"Yes. Yes it is. This is home," the human said. The lucario froze for a moment and looked at the man, grinning.

"No, this isn't home."

"How is it not? It's a home."

"No… I realize … that I never had a home for the past few years. Home is not a place. Home isn't where you make it… or where you are." She laughed again and hugged him, whispering in his ear. "I know now that home is not an object, but a person." She let go and kissed him. They embraced eachother, hugging and rubbing their backs, giggling. Lips parted with a soft pop, and they laughed.

"I'm glad I'm not in that warehouse anymore."

"Me too."

"And always know… as long as I have breath in my lungs… that you will never…" He rubbed her sides and looked at you, smiling. The morning sun painted the left side in a golden yellow, tickling his skin with light. He chuckled and softened his smile into a grin. "Ever…" The grin melted into the smallest of smiles, only one corner of his lip tilting up. "Be…" He nodded at you once, and looked at you with reassuring eyes. The man gave you a warm wink, walked into the house with her, swung the wooden door open, and shut it behind him.

"Alone."


	6. Final Chapter

"I… have a foggy memory of the inside. Didn't really pay attention to it. Standards… get lowered… _pretty_ low."

"Are you kidding? This is beautiful!" Ezra laughed and inspected a few light fixtures. "Great condition… 120 volt AC… this whole house runs on electricity?"

"Yep. There's some solar on the roof. I'm pretty sure there's a hydroelectric turbine by a river a little to the west…"

"I'm impressed. I… I can get used to this." Dillon smiled as she ran around the place like a kid in a candy store. He thought about the rooms she would like best… until he remembered a room. All of his joy drained from his face.

"Ezra… can… you stay down here for a minute? Please? I need to check something upstairs." She cocked her head.

"Okay…" she said slowly. Ezra went outside to unpack the truck.

"God damn…" he whispered. Dillon flew up the stairs and turned a corner, slamming into a door and opening it. He groaned and covered his mouth.

Just as he feared.

There was a room with two twin-sized beds, a toy box, and a few things of paper and crayons. Normal… for this room. But that wasn't the problem. There was a quarantine drape that separated Dillon from the rest of the room. Dillon left it there to let them rest… but he had to move them. He took a shaky hand and parted the frosted curtain, squinting.

There were two children… about four years of age… laying on the beds, fully tucked. Or rather… their remains.

The child on the left hadn't changed since he left for Maine: a surprisingly well-preserved body. Nothing was decaying. But the right was a different story. The entire left arm and some of the chest cavity had been removed voluntarily by the family that once lived here. He could only guess that the arm was mutated in some way, shape, or form. Both of the eyes have been removed as well, sockets of dark staring into open air. The tongue and most of the internal organs have been removed, not that Dillon would look at such a thing, but because there was a large indentation in the abdomen of the child. He took in a deep breath and took the sheets off of the corners only, wrapping the sheets around the child like a carpet. He laid it on the ground and did the same for the other, putting the child next to the other and wrapping both of them in the quarantine sheet. He picked them up and carried them on his chest, sidestepping out of the room and down the stairs, through the main corridor, and out the backdoor. He rested the children on the ground by the back porch so that he could give them a propter burial later.

Dillon came back out to help Ezra, who had already unloaded some of the crates. She was struggling with the one that held the oven and piano pieces, panting.

"Hey!" She looked at him, hot breath coming out of her mouth. "Don't do that on your own… Ezra. You'll hurt your back."

"Sorry…"

"It's okay… let's do this together. Come on." He hopped onto the trailer and grabbed one end. "Ready? One… two…" Ezra got her grips in and they both waddled off it, setting it down by the front porch. She heaved heavy breaths and sat down, closing her eyes.

"That… wow… wow." Ezra looked at Dillon with half-lidded eyes. "Do… they have… a fridge… by chance?" she panted out.

"It has one… yeah. I'll plug it in and turn on the breakers." Dillon went to the side of the house and opened a grey box, switching a few rectangular switches. The electric buzzing sounded, and some lights on the inside turned on. He pumped a fist and ran back to Ezra. "It's running. 'Put some in it?" She nodded, still tired from the lifting. Dillon went to the truck and pulled out a jug of water, went in the house, and put it in the now cooling fridge. Ezra walked inside, rubbing her cheeks.

"Is it cold yet…?" she mumbled, leaning on Dillon. He chuckled and rubbed her head and the back of her ears.

"No. Sorry."

"It's alright… let's just take care of the stuff we pulled off while it cools." She slipped from his hand and went to the crates outside.

"Okay." He followed her. Ezra grabbed a crowbar from inside the truck and undid the nails that held the thing together. She slid the lid off, bouncing a little on the ground.

"So… why did we bring the piano but not my drawing table?"

"You said you didn't need it."

"Oh." She looked down.

"That's fine… I can make you one.

"From… from what? _The tree?_ No. It looks beautiful!" She looked at him. "I'm not letting you chop down that tree!" Ezra smiled. He chuckled and looked at the truck.

"There's plenty of crate wood… you know? And… there's a few more trees in the backyard. Oh… speaking… of…" he rubbed the back of his neck and walked away.

"Dillon? D-Dillon? Are you okay…?"

"I forgot… that there were… children…" She frowned and followed him to the back. She turned the corner and saw Dillon looking at a wrap of plastic.

"Oh. Is—is that a roll of plastic?" She stood behind him. "What's…"

"Can you help me? Ezra?"

"Of course. What do you need?"

"A shovel." She thought for a second and glanced around the backyard. She spotted a large spade jammed into the ground by the porch. Ezra grabbed it and handed it to Dillon.

"Okay… now what?" She said, worried.

"I need you to be strong for me." He picked up the roll and walked past some trees, all the way to the back. Laying down the roll, he went to the crates in the front and ripped two 2x4's from one. He crossed them, carved notches into them with his knife, and forced them together to make the shape of a cross. He held it and made sure it was sturdy, walked back, and laid it next to the wrap. He unrolled it and looked at Ezra, who was biting her finger. "I know you have taken lives before, Ezra. Will you help me put them to rest?" She nodded vigorously and walked to him, unsure of how to do it.

"Can… what… how…?"

"We need to dig two. If you can find another shovel…" He grabbed the spade that Ezra brought him and marked the outline of the hole. "That would be helpful." She nodded and went to find another. Dillon kept digging. He reached a foot deep square when Ezra came back.

"Do I do it close or a little back?"

"Three feet away. Right…" he shoved the tip into the ground. "Here."

"Okay." She began to mirror the size of his hole, holding the same rectangular shape and size.

"Go about three feet in." She nodded again and kept digging, trying to keep the walls flat.

It took a little while, but they were done at about noon. Dillon started to unwrap one of the rolls, but he looked at Ezra.

"You can leave if you want to."

"No. I… I feel obligated." Dillon sighed and unrolled the first child, setting him right by the hole. He did the same with the other one, and stood in front of the two graves.

"Quid est nomen tibi?" he said, looking at the graves. He stood there for a moment, waiting. Ezra was confused, but decided she should keep back… for now. She stood a good 10 feet away. He whispered something… something so quiet. "Ma… Max… Mad… Mason?" He huffed and waited some more. Dillon stood for what seemed like an hour, but in reality was only 9 minutes. "Ni… knee… Nia?" He sighed and walked to the left grave, lowering the first child in. "Mason… your suffering will live no longer… you will rest in heaven in the land of God. May you pass on in peace." He smoothed the clothes on him and put his hands on his chest, standing back up and walking to the other child.

"Nia… though your body is not whole… may you pass on in peace with a whole spirit and soul. Your suffering on Earth will live no more." He sighed and stood in between them. "Itaque corporis et sanguinis et spiritus sancti." He touched his forehead, his heart, and his shoulders. "Ezra… can you help me?" She walked over and looked at him.

"Yes."

"Let's end the burial." He grabbed the shovel and started to fill the hole with dirt. It took shorter than digging, and there was a little left over that he had to pack in. Dillon took the cross and speared it in the ground in between the graves. He grabbed the shovels and put them by the back porch, and went inside to wash his hands. Dillon turned around and noticed that she was crying. "Hey… don't beat yourself up because of it. It wasn't your fault."

"I know but…" she wiped the tears off her cheeks and looked at him. "It's just… they didn't deserve it."

"They're in a better place now… Ezra."

"I… I… okay…" she sniffled. "Alright. I'm okay." She walked away and pulled the jug out of the fridge, drinking a little. "Ready… ready to unpack the rest…?"

"M-hm." The two went outside and unloaded the rest.

A few hours later, and everything was nearly unpacked. The trailer was detached and unloaded, and the truck was almost empty.

Inside the house… it began to look like a real home. There were pots and pans in the kitchen drawers… forks and spoons… cooking supplies here and there. Dillon had already worked the garden in the back, planted seeds for tomatoes, sweet potatoes, cotton, potatoes, orange trees, and sugar cane. He was ambitious in planting the orange trees, since those take around 10 years to grow. Hopefully, he'll live to see the day it bears fruit. He stopped moving when he thought of this. Why was he always questioning his life? It somehow became a habit for him sometime in his travels. Dillon decided that he would no longer think about the next time he'll die. It… just wasn't appropriate for the atmosphere in the home.

Ezra put together the wood stove outside on the porch, due to the house already having a natural gas one. She, albeit tediously, put together the piano in the living room and unloaded the linens to the upstairs laundry room. Ezra also put the firearms in a crate and put it in the basement. Though she lived through years of death and violence… she hoped that the guns would not have to see the light of day again. It was a last token of their old life in Maine.

All of the dry MRE's and canned foods went into the pantry and cabinets, along with some plates and bowls that were already there. She checked the well and internal plumbing, and, according to her, everything's fine. She even made the beds and swept the floors.

Dillon came in with dirty hands and a sweaty brow. His boots thumped on the floor as he walked to the sink, rinsing off his hands. He dried them off and slid his boots off, walking upstairs.

"Hey… Ezra?" he called. "Where did you put my clothes?" He slid his trench coat off and hung it on a hat rack in the stairwell. He walked the rest of the way upstairs and looked in the laundry room.

"Oh! I just washed your clothes…" she picked up a wicker basket full of boxers, shorts and shirts. "Are… you going to shower?"

"Yeah. I'll be out in a few minutes to help with dinner. Thanks."

"Your welcome." She smiled and grabbed some bed sheets. "And—hey." Dillon stopped and turned around. Ezra flew into his arms, hugging him. "Thank you for bringing us here." She nuzzled his chest. "And you're smelly. Go get a shower." They both laughed and went to do their things.

It was around half past 8, and Dillon was out of the shower and in the kitchen. Ezra came out of the living room, a little groggy from a nap.

"Hmm? What are you making?" She asked, drinking water from the jug.

"We… are… having…" He finished tapping some parmesan on the dish. "Pasta!" He put the shaker down and stepped to the side. There were two plates of round pasta filled with cheese and spinach. Melted butter and more cheese coated the pasta in a shinny glaze, steaming. There were forks for each plate. Ezra's eyes widened.

"Wow! Thank you!" She hugged him tight and went to the food. "Which one's mine…?"

"Either one." She picked one up and forked one, putting it in her mouth. She chewed it slightly, the pocket of pasta bursting, melted cheese pouring out on her tongue. She hummed happily, chewing the cheesy pasta. Ezra swallowed and smiled.

"This is good!" she said. "How… how did you make it?"

"I took some frozen pasta from Maine and put it in a cooler. Then, I made it. Easy."

"It's really good… you should eat, too, you know." She went to the fridge and pulled out a couple of sodas. "I wonder…" Her ear twitched a little, and she went in the living room. "C'mon, eat with me."

"Right." He picked up his plate and followed her.

In the living room there was the piano, a coffee table, a couch, and a fireplace. Oddly… no television: instead there was a wall. Just a wall.

They sat down on the couch and ate, marveling at the simple food they dug into.

"This… this. This is great," Ezra said in between bites of pasta. "You should cook more often."

"Thank you. It was simple… though."

"Cool. Should we…" Ezra glanced behind her, looking out the window. Vivid hues of vermillion and yellow painted the sky in a beautiful sunset. "Head off to bed… soon?" She looked at Dillon, who was just finishing up his dinner.

"Yeah… I'm tired. I can only imagine that you're the same."

"M-hm. My leg's hurting in four different places, and I have an aching back."

"Really? I have calluses on my calluses, little glucose… and borderline hyperthermia."

"You're such a dork…" she snickered. Ezra picked up their empty plates and glasses and put them on the kitchen counter. She shut the lights off and went up the stairs. "Hey, come on! Bed." She grinned and hopped onto the stairwell and up more stairs, turning into her room. "You'll like your room, Dillon!" she yelled down the stairs. Dillon walked up and stopped in front of her.

"Goodnight, Ezra." He gave her a kiss.

"Goodnight." She smiled and hugged him, let go, and turned into her room. There were three bedrooms: the master, Dillon's room, and Ezra's, who decided to take the room where the children were. The room looked nothing like a children's room now: there were no toys, and the twin beds were moved into the master. She put her bed from Maine in the center, and kept the little nightstand that came with the house.

Her smile went away, vanishing into a frown. The bed caught her when she flopped onto it, tucking her hands under her head and bringing her knees to her chest.

There was something bothering her.

Don't get her wrong, she loved the house, the plants, the tree, the open grasslands, and… Dillon. Oh, she loved Dillon with all her heart. He gave her a voice, a hope, and a dream. The voice to talk… a hope for safety… and… her dream? Her dream to be closer with him. Ezra was the most human pokémon that she could be, but she still fails to recall human social standards. As far as she knew… they were… _dating_... the humans called it? She liked the position she was in now… but something felt missing. It made her thrive for more love. It made her thrive for him….

And it made her sneak into his bed every night for the past 8 months.

She felt dirty… like she was keeping an unholy secret from him. She wanted to tell him… she wanted to ask… but she was afraid. Afraid of his reaction. So she waited that night… like all the others, and patiently kept her ears open for his snoring.

It was a short while until she heard him, and she slid off the bed and cracked open the door. The door to his room was left ajar… perfect for her to sneak in. She silently edged her door shut and slinked over to his door, slipping through.

He was on one side, facing the wall with the blanket kicked off. Ezra rolled ever so slowly onto the bed, wrapping her arms around his waist. She sighed slowly and rested her head on the bed, closing her eyes.

But he moved.

And she froze.

Dillon tossed over, rolling in her embrace, now facing her instead of the wall. Ezra listened so carefully… so very carefully… for his snores. She heard none, and hesitantly cracked her eyes open the tiniest.

His eyes were open.

"You can stop sneaking into bed with me… now." He smiled and hugged her. But she was freaking out. Ezra threw herself at light speed across the room, slamming into the wall and sliding down, hyperventilating. She started to cry, pulled her ears over her eyes, her knees up, and bawled like a baby. She cried in her ears, not willing to show her face. Ezra choked on her cries, sometimes coughing, but mostly sniffling.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry!" she repeated, her voice muffled by her knees. "I'm sorry…" Her body tipped over, rolling onto her side. She let go of her ears and held onto her knees.

Dillon stood up and ran to her, kneeling and rubbing her head and back. He shushed her and kept rubbing.

"I'm so sorry… I'm so sorry… I'm… so…" she calmed down and sniffled, looking up at Dillon. "You're… not mad at me?"

"No… no, no. How—how could I ever be mad at you?" He grabbed her shoulders and tilted her back up, hugging her. "Don't… you're okay. It's okay…"

"But-but—It's a special thing… that humans do…" she coughed. "I did something special without your permission… I'm sorry." Dillon let go and wiped her tears off.

"It's fine… I've known for a very long—"

"YOU KNEW?!" she yelled. Ezra started to breathe faster, and she began panic.

"No! It's okay! It's okay to do that…" he said, holding her face in his hands. Her mouth and face contorted into a quivering cry. She closed her mouth and inhaled through her nose, trying to get her composure back. It took a minute, but soon she was reduced to sniffling and the occasional gasp.

"But… I lied… I didn't tell you… I STOLE IT!" She cried a little more, but Dillon stared straight into her eyes. Ezra licked her lips and stopped.

"All… you have to do… is ask." He kissed her and pulled her in for another hug. Ezra twitched, but finally returned it.

"Tha-th-th-" She sniffled and took in a deep breath. "That's all?"

"M-hm." She licked her lips and pushed back, looking at the floor. "Hey." Her eyes went from the floor to his face. "Look at me when you want to ask me for something. I don't want you to be afraid…" Her jaw chattered a few times and she nodded.

"C-can…. May I-I-I…" Ezra stopped and whimpered. "May I-I sleep—May I go… to bed… with you? P-please?" She squeezed her eyes shut and sniffled, opening them again to see Dillon smiling.

"Yes. You may." He picked her up and walked to the bed, setting her down and laying next to her. She calmed down a little more and slowed her breaths, turning over to face Dillon. "Please… you don't have to be scared anymore. I'm here. We're here. We're safe."

"O… okay." She pulled her frown into a crooked grin and kissed him. After that, her smile was back to normal. She giggled and nuzzled up to him, closing her eyes.

"You smile like an idiot, you know?"

"I know. You make me."

"Goodnight."

"Night."

-The Next Morning-

"Oh… goodness…" Ezra slurred as she sat up. "We… we need a bigger bed…" She slid off, standing up and stretching. Dillon followed her down the stairs and into the kitchen to make some breakfast. Ezra pulled out some bacon and egg skillet and went to the stove, putting the water on boil. She yawned and waddled to the living room, flopping on the couch and resting her eyes. She heard Dillon come down the stairs, and she opened to see. Dillon was standing in front of her, bent over, looking at her.

"Morning, beautiful."

"Don't call me that!" She giggled and covered her face, rolling on the couch. "It makes me feel really fuzzy inside," she muffled through her hands.

"Is that a bad thing?" He pulled one hand away to see Ezra's face.

"No… but it makes me feel weird. Like… the weird kind of weird." She sat up.

"I'm pretty sure that's called…" He sat down next to her and wrapped one arm around her neck. "Love." He put a quick peck on her nose, making her giggle again.

"No… I know _that_ kind of weird. But this one's… more…" Ezra bit her lip. "I don't know… _prickly_? _Hot_?" She thought for a moment. " _Happy_?"

"Hm… where's it making you feel funny?"

"Most of it is here…" she put his hand on her chest. "But there's a bit more in my belly." She slid it down a little. "Do you know what that is?"

"Oh… um…" Dillon blushed and cringed. Never did he think he would have to explain _this_ to her. "Do… you know what lust is?"

"N… no." Dillon's muscles tensed.

"No? Okay… heat?"

"I know what that means, silly. It's how hot something is." Ezra smiled. He began to fear.

"Er… sex?"

"No. Wait—that's the gender of someone, right?" This made him really uncomfortable.

"Um… mate?"

"Australian slang?" No. It wasn't possible. It couldn't be. She couldn't be this ignorant. Ezra must've found a partner when she was old… but….

Oh, no.

She was a virgin.

He was so stupid! There was no possible way that she could be this nice if she wasn't a virgin! Ezra was so emotional… happy… innocent. She was innocent. Nothing clouded her mind. She truly loved Dillon for who he was and what he did. But… their first kisses in Maine… did she know the ambiguity of that? No… not likely. Even with a partner in life… she knew nothing about sex. He was surprised that she didn't have her period until now. Maybe… maybe her body was on sexual stasis. Maybe she's only acting like this now because she found her mate. Her love. And he would, sooner or later, have to deal with this.

"We… we'll talk about this later. Let's have some breakfast first, okay?"

"Alright." She hopped up and walked to the kitchen, checking on the water. He noticed her stride changed; normally it was… normal. Now, her hips swayed in a way that was so daring and provoking. He was sure she did it on purpose. But, with his new information regarding her knowledge on sex… he had his doubts. She could just be lying… but she never has lied to him. "M'kay, it's steaming in the bags now," she said, falling down next to him.

"You've really been wearing that sweater all this time?" he asked, rubbing her shoulders.

"Yeah… I like it… a lot." She hummed and took his hands off. "Do you?"

"Sure I do!" Dillon smiled. "You're wearing it."

"Thank you…" she said, closing her eyes and laying back.

"So… you have no idea what you're feeling?"

"The fuzziness?"

"M-hm."

"No. I've felt it once before… though." She opened her eyes and looked at him. Maybe this would help him figure out why she was feeling this.

"Okay… when?"

"A few months ago, when you first came here. I think you were messing with the stove… and you poked my thigh by accident. Then I felt really fuzzy in my belly." She slouched down, and her ears twitched. "Does that mean anything… Dillon?"

No shit, Sherlock. It means the _world_ to him. What she was feeling now was definitely arousal, but… just from him calling her beautiful? She must _really_ like Dillon. He could understand what happened when he poked her thigh with his elbow, but this? This was crazy.

"Like I said… let's have some breakfast… and maybe some lunch… and then dinner. Then bed." She laughed and flinched when the timer went off.

"Right. Let's eat." They got up and ate their breakfast.

The two went on through the day, making sure everything in the house was shipshape. Ezra focused on necessities and indoor troubleshooting, while Dillon was outside making sure the house was still structurally sound. Their checks were checked, and the house was in perfect condition to live in. Dillon already knew the house was fine… he just wanted work to fill the day, and to stay away from Ezra.

She had been walking weird for the whole day, and she was starting to emit a strange smell he couldn't pinpoint…. This was a red flag for him. She was going to go through her cycle soon. Dillon did his best and kept his distance when he could: it was him that made her this way.

He was… quite flattered, actually. But he had his morals to follow.

A long, long day of work and inspecting went by; yet Ezra was still wide awake. She had dinner, and was waiting for Dillon to come out of the shower. Ezra's body—to her—had an undertone of warmth and pressure, and it was starting to bother her. She fidgeted and rubbed her thighs and stomach, hoping to quell this beast that churned inside her. Ezra let out the occasional moan—something that seemed so bizarre to her. She never felt this… and didn't know what to do. Ezra thought she was just sick… and needed a rest. She flopped on the master bed; the other one was too small for the both of them—and sighed.

Dillon came through, his hair pointing in every direction.

"Hi."

"Hey…" she giggled. "Your hair is funny." He looked at his loose hair and ruffled it, turning the light off and laying next to her.

"Thanks." He rolled his eyes and tossed to face her. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight…" she yawned, closing her eyes as he worked his hands around her waist. They both fell asleep….

Ezra woke with a literal burning sensation in her abdomen. She opened her eyes and groaned, rolling off the bed and standing up.

"Why… it hurts…" she whispered. Ezra stumbled to the bathroom and turned on the light.

Her fur was matted in different directions and her eyes were lazy. She rubbed her stomach and sat on the toilet lid. The burning itch moved inside her, going from her stomach to her groin. Ezra let out a quiet moan, and spread her legs.

"Wh-what… what's happening…?" she mumbled, pulling her skirt up and looking down.

Her privates were normal; almost invisible due to the surrounding fur. But it started to itch. Ezra voiced a small cry, wishing for it to go away. She scratched her groin and screamed, bucking her hips up and falling off the toilet. Ezra whimpered and moaned, shocked by how interesting it felt. She wanted to touch it again. But paralyzed, she was. The feeling locked up her body, sticking her into a position where her shoulders were touching the floor and her toes were pushing up. Her pelvis was pushed up high, and her back arched. She moaned and groaned, clenching her fists and gritting her teeth. Dillon walked through the door, looking for her.

"Ezra? Are you…" He glanced down to see her writhing in pleasure, her eyes shut tight and her hips bucked high, skirt hiked up to expose her now throbbing pussy. She opened her eyes and looked at him.

"P-please…" she cried breathlessly. "H-help… me…" Her breath hitched in her throat. Dillon stared, pitching a large tent in his pants. But he had to hold himself together.

"I can't. Please… understand for me, okay?" She flinched and fell over, crawling to him. He sighed and picked her up, carrying her to bed. "I want… ple… please—OH!" The sheets ground against her clit, shocking her to the core. "More… I can't…"

"No. Trust me. Go to sleep… Ezra…" he said slowly. Ezra flinched and convulsed when he said her name like that, moaning and screaming. Juices poured from her pussy, soaking the sheets below her. Dillon heard this and looked down.

"You… did not… just…" His eyes went wide. "It's not just the hormones… is it?" He pulled her into a hug.

"H-h-h-hormones?" she managed to say.

"Not now. We need to fix this problem you have down there." He smiled and kissed Ezra, making her moan and roll. He slid down, his face in front of her pussy.

"N—what are you doing? Can-is-NYA!" He gave her snatch a heated French kiss, shoving his tongue at her clit and sucking. Her cries died out into a breathless scream, her spine bending and her hips being shoved into his face. Her pussy rocked her through another orgasm, more juices flowing out and down Dillon's chin. "D-Dillon! Oh!" He smiled and looked up back at her, hungrily eating at her snatch. He let up and crawled to her face, kissing her again.

"You liked that… didn't you?" he said, pulling away. Ezra finally mustered the strength to control her own body. She tackled him over and straddled his hips, grinding and moaning.

"More… I need more…" she mumbled.

"You want more?"

"Yes!" She hiked up her skirt and scooted up, sitting on his face. His tongue prodded inside, going surprisingly deep. She squirmed and arched her back, almost screaming. Ezra came again after a few seconds, sighing and rolling off. Dillon wiped his face and picked her up, laying her on the bed next to him. She was about to go for her fourth round when Dillon stopped her.

"Do… you want… more?"

"I want your mouth… down here…" she moaned, pushing her head against his chest and grinding on his thigh.

"I know. But… there's something that can feel even better."

"The-there… there is?" She looked up at him. He nodded. "I—I trust you." She mumbled something unintelligible and pushed away, whining at the lack of stimulation. Dillon slid his pants down, exposing his rock-hard erection. She furrowed her brow at this and looked at him questioningly. "What's… what's that?"

"I'm not going to lie… Ezra. This may hurt."

"I don't care!" She rolled on top of him, grinding against his cock and gasping. "I-It's so warm…" Dillon pointed it up at her entrance and pushed it in, little by little. She stopped grinding and looked up, screaming to the high heavens. This amounted to nothing she had ever felt before. His rubs, his kisses, even when he licked her… this far outclassed what was buried in her cunt. It touched places she's never felt, and was good in all the right places. When the crown of his cock touched her cervix, she broke. Ezra came every few seconds, drenching the sheets in her quim juice. Her scream went silent and her ears went flat. Cunt muscles tightened around his cock, up to the point where he couldn't move. Dillon gritted his teeth and tried to pull away, but to no avail. He gave up and just pushed. Ezra found her voice again and screamed, falling over to the side, flinching and convulsing. Dillon came, shooting his cum deep inside her. His cock softened enough to slip out of her, the cum that didn't make it inside her womb leaking out. He sighed and hugged her. Ezra finally calmed down and fell on top of him, passing out.

Dillon was in the kitchen the next morning, frying some bacon. Ezra stumbled down the stairs and yawned, scratching her shoulder.

"Morning… Dillon…" She smiled. Dillon turned.

"Hey beautiful…" he said. Ezra's knees gave out and she fell on the carpet. Dillon flinched and took the bacon off the burner, turning it off.

"Oh…" she groaned as she stood up. "God…"

"I'm sorry," he said walking to her and helping her up. "Are… you alright?"

"Yeah… you… made me feel fuzzy again. What-what happened last… night? I'm so tired…" She fell into his arms and he carried her to the kitchen.

"You… don't remember?"

"What?"

"We did something special last night… remember?" He frowned and put her down.

"N… no. But I feel really fuzzy in my…" she slowed down, staring at the bacon. Her eyes widened and she looked at Dillon, smiling. "WE DID!" Ezra jumped up at him, wrapped her legs around his waist, screamed into his chest and squeezed the life out of him. "Ha! I love you… thank you…" she said, kissing him. Dillon smiled and she dropped off, giggling.

"You remember…"

"Yeah! What… what was that?"

"That… was sex. We had sex."

"Well… I want more… please." She rubbed her groin.

"Not now… Ezra. We have to eat… breakfast." Dillon stuttered as she rubbed herself. "Why do you have to be so goddamned cute!?" He smiled and went back to the bacon, putting it on a plate with a paper towel.

"Okay… let's do it later." Dillon passed her the plate and she took it to the table. They sat down and ate.

"Do you even know what we just did?"

"Yeah! It felt good."

"Do you know what it does?"

"No."

"Um… do you know where babies come from?" Dillon raised an eyebrow.

"No… why?"

"Well…" Dillon lowered his voice and spoke to her. He explained where they came from… and how they got there. She covered her mouth and squealed.

"I'm going to be a mother!" she screamed, hugging Dillon.

-14 years later-

The backyard lay silent, the day coming to end. Sun fell on golden horizon, siren the arrival of night. The orange tree was fruitful, and the garden plentiful. Wheat populated the wild, while others lived in the garden. The porch was painted, and the oven was smoking. A man was tending to dinner with a lucario standing with him.

"Hey… did you tell them to come inside yet? I'm nearly finished with supper," he said, sliding several burgers onto a plate.

"M-hm. They're washing up right now…" She hugged the man, staring at the food with malicious intent.

"This game will never let up… will it?" a boy said, washing his hands next to a braixen.

"Well… no. It won't," she giggled, yawning. "I guess." The boy stepped to the side so that she could wash her hands.

"Same time tomorrow?"

"You mean the crack of dawn?"

"Ah, potato potahto." He walked to the dining room. She followed him there, rubbing her aching thigh from all the running she did today. The man walked in with a plate of burgers, setting it in the center of the table. "Thanks, Dad."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." He sat down, Ezra coming in with three more plates and some water.

"Now… If you finish your supper you can talk to me about dessert." She put the plates down and sat next to the man, putting her head on her fists. Everyone else did the same as she began to say grace.

When she finished they did the sign of the cross and ate their dinner in a happy silence. Once they were done, the kids put their plates in the kitchen and went upstairs to ask for their dessert.

"Mom? Mom…" the boy said. The lucario came down the stairs with a smirk and some spunk in her step. "Close your eyes…" she said, smiling. They gasped and shut them tight as the lucario grabbed their shoulders and guided them downstairs. The man brought a cake to the dining room table and lit some candles made from tree sap. The lucario let go of their shoulders. "Open."

They both opened and laughed, hugging their mom. There were 13 candles lit, with their father standing behind the cake.

"Happy birthday to you…" he and the lucario sang. "Happy birthday to you…" the boy and the braixen ran into their dad, hugging him tight. "Happy birthday dear Mason and Nia…" The kids turned to the candlelit cake on the table. "Happy birthday… to you…"

End.

 _"_ _If you're depressed that you can't seem to meet the one you love, don't be. Make mistakes. Look for the one. Because I had a disease narrow it down for me. I had to travel through 23 different countries and 16.5 million miles to find the one. Find the ones that need help, and the ones that are willing to help you. Because Ezra was both. Ezra was everything. Get up and look for who you love."_

 _Dillon Kyle Devoirs_

 _1978—2071_


	7. Sequel Teaser

A mysterious person clad in leather walked up to a steel door, inspecting the heavily sunbaked note laminated and taped to it.

"Really? A note? Oh, for the love of God…" It squinted their eyes and read carefully…

 _To whom it May Concern,_

 _You may utilize this housing for protection and shelter. We sadly cannot provide rations. There is a river up north where fish live, and there are several apple trees east of the forest. May God help you through this crisis, and may luck be with you._

 _Dillon Devoirs and Ezra_

 _2007_

 _If you need help, or suffice the resources, visit us west of Chicago, Illinois._

"So… Dillon met someone? How nice..." The person opened the door, finding little inside. "Huh. Bare as bone. Oh, well." It shut the door and tightened its steel boots, chuckling. "I guess I'll have to pay him a visit after 22 years…" It took off it's mask, scratching his face and dusting the dirt off. "22 goddamned years." He laughed and clipped the mask on. "Ready or not…" Several interlocks in his leg banged together, preparing to run. He grabbed a knob on the side of his knee and twisted it, his legs whirring and vibrating.

"Here I come."


End file.
